The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
his senses, he was lying in the open, upstairs. He sat up, groaned and looked around with confusion. Larten was nearby. He’d thought about leaving, but he wanted to monitor the boy’s recovery. Now he held a pouch of leaves filled with water to Wester’s lips.
“What happened?” Wester asked once he’d drunk.
“The monster knocked us out,” Larten lied. “He was gone when I recovered. I dragged you up here and went to wash my wounds and fetch water for you.”
“He didn’t kill us?” Wester frowned.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Larten laughed.
“Why not?”
Larten shrugged. “Who can know the mind of a monster?”
Wester staggered to his feet, groaning at the pain in his broken arm, and returned to the cellar entrance. Larten tried to call him back, but Wester growled, “I have to be sure.”
Larten lay in the sun while Wester explored the empty cellar. When the boy reappeared he looked drained of energy and life. He slumped next to Larten, his eyes full of tears.
“I failed,” Wester whimpered.
“At least you tried,” Larten consoled him. “We knew the odds were against us. We were lucky to survive.”
“I wish he’d killed me,” Wester cried. “How can I go back? They’ll think I didn’t face him, that I was afraid.”
“Your wounds…” Larten muttered.
“Anyone can fake injuries,” Wester snorted. He got up and looked around for footprints.
“What will you do?” Larten asked.
“Find the monster,” Wester said. “I tracked him down once. I can do it again.”
Larten didn’t comment on how crazy that was – the vampaneze would already be many miles from here – but he said nothing. Wester would come to realise the futility of his quest in his own time.
“You won’t be able to face him until your arm heals,” Larten said, trying an indirect approach. “You’ll need to rest, gather your strength, get a new hammer and more stakes.”
Wester nodded thoughtfully. He tried moving his fingers and winced. “Do you know how to make a splint?” he asked.
“No,” Larten said, “but I know a man who does. You should return to your home and bury your family. But if you truly don’t want to,” he said quickly before Wester could argue, “you can come with me and seek refuge at the Cirque Du Freak.”
“What’s that?” Wester asked.
“It’s many things to many people,” Larten said softly, taking Wester’s good arm and leading him away. “For you, temporarily, it can be a sanctuary.” But he knew, even as he said it, that what he was really offering Wester was a new home.
Wester’s broken arm healed and so did the hurt inside him. The first few nights were horrible, a time of sobbing and hateful curses. Larten wouldn’t have been able to console Wester by himself, but there were many at the Cirque Du Freak who knew what it was like to lose loved ones, to find yourself an outcast from the world. They did what they could to comfort the miserable orphan.
Wester was full of talk about how he was going to find and kill the monster. He made all kinds of outlandish plans. Larten listened quietly and never exposed the flaws in Wester’s wild schemes, and as his fury dwindled, Wester came to see them himself and stopped muttering darkly. He hadn’t forgotten his vow to slaughter the beast, and Larten doubted this was the end of the matter, but for the time being he was content to let it rest.
Even before he regained the use of his arm, Wester started helping Larten with his chores. He was intrigued by the magical circus. He worked hard and adapted swiftly to their way of life. Larten wondered sometimes if any stray in their position would fit in with the circus folk, or if he and Wester were different. He had a feeling the Cirque wasn’t for everyone, only for those of a certain bent. Although they looked normal, he came to believe that he and Wester were in their own way every bit as freakish as the stars of the show.
The pair spoke often of their lives, especially at night when Verus and Merletta were asleep. In whispers, Larten told Wester about Vur Horston and Traz, how he had become a murderer on the factory floor. He thought Wester might think less of him then, but his new friend said nothing as Larten laid bare his soul, only listened silently and patted Larten’s hand when he was finished.
Larten was less revealing about his more recent movements. He let Wester think he’d been with the Cirque Du Freak for years. He didn’t want to tell him about Seba and the world of vampires. If he did, Wester might make the link to the monster that had killed his family and maybe hate Larten as he hated the creature whose name he’d never learnt.
If Seba had returned in the middle of the night, when Wester was asleep, Larten would have left without waking the boy. He would have asked Seba if they could slip away quietly, and Seba, being old and wise, would surely have respected his assistant’s wishes. That would have spared Larten the task of telling Wester the truth.
But Seba Nile returned without warning one evening, shortly before the start of a show. He tapped Larten’s shoulder and when his assistant turned, the elderly vampire winked and said, “I hope you have not forgotten me already.”
Larten cried out with joy – he’d missed Seba more than he realised – and threw himself into the vampire’s arms, hugging him hard. Seba was surprised, but did not push the teenager away. Vampires were not as emotional as humans, but they were not entirely unfeeling. A rare display of affection was allowed.
“I will have your story soon,” Seba said when Larten released him. “I imagine you have much to tell me.”
“And I’m sure you have even more to tell me,” Larten grinned. They shared a laugh — both knew that Seba would tell his assistant next to nothing about his long trek and what he’d experienced at the Vampire Council.
“We will catch up with one another shortly,” Seba said. “First I must find Hibernius and thank him for taking care of you.” Seba caught sight of a boy hovering nearby, staring at them. He immediately sensed a connection between this stranger and Larten, but he didn’t pursue it. Larten could tell him in his own good time, if he wished.
When Seba left, Wester nudged closer and asked, “Who was that?”
Larten sighed. “My master.” He set his tray aside and faced Wester. “We won’t be working tonight. There’s a lot I have to tell you. About me… my master… and vampires.”
Larten told Wester everything, how he’d first met Seba, his years serving as his assistant, what he knew about the clan, finishing with the truth about Murlough. Wester listened quietly, his face impossible to read. He was silent for a long time when Larten stopped. When he finally spoke, it was to ask, “Vampires drink blood, but they don’t kill?”
“Aye.”
“But you’ve only met a couple. How can you be sure?”
“Seba told me. I trust him. And Murlough confirmed it too.”
“But he said that vampires used to kill.”
Larten shrugged. “I don’t know much about the clan’s history. Maybe they were monsters like Murlough in the past. But they’re not any more. From what Murlough said, there’s no love lost between the two clans. He thinks vampires are weak for not killing when they feed.”
“Have you drunk blood yet?” Wester asked.
“No. I’m still human. Seba won’t blood me until we’re both sure that it’s right for me.”
“If I thought that you were lying… or that Seba had lied to you… that vampires were in any way connected with what happened to my family…” There were angry tears in Wester’s eyes.