The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
“I knew her from inns.”
Vur’s head rose and he frowned. Larten groaned — his cousin had swallowed the bait. This was going to be bad.
“Beg pardon, sir, but you’re mistaken. My mother didn’t work in an inn.”
“She did,” Traz sniffed.
“No, sir,” Vur said. “She was a seamstress.”
“By day,” Traz jeered. “But she earned a bit extra by night.” He gave Vur a few seconds to dwell on that. “Worked in a lot of inns. I met with her many times.”
Vur was too young to have kissed a girl, but there were few true innocents in the world at that time. He knew what the foreman was implying. His cheeks flushed. The worst thing was, he couldn’t say for sure that it was a lie. He was almost certain that Traz was toying with him, but Vur had few memories of his parents, so he couldn’t dismiss the insult as an outrageous piece of slander.
“She wasn’t a pretty thing,” Traz continued, relishing the twisted look on Vur’s face. “But she was pretty good at her job. Aye?”
Vur started to tremble, but not with fear. He had always been able to control his temper – much better than Larten could – but he’d never been subjected to an insult of this nature before.
Traz whispered something in Vur’s ear. The boy’s face went white and a lone cocoon bobbed up inside the vat.
“Keep the bloody things down!” Traz roared, punching Vur hard in the left side of his head. Vur was slugged sideways and lost his grip on the cocoons. They all shot to the top. “Idiot!” Traz yelled and followed it up with cruder curses, each accompanied by a blow to Vur’s head.
Vur tried to push the cocoons down again, but was knocked away from the vat by the bullying foreman, then to the ground. As he hit the floor, Traz kicked the boy in the stomach. Vur cried out with pain, then threw up over Traz’s boot.
The foreman’s fury doubled. Cursing the boy with his vilest insults, he grabbed cocoons from the vat and lobbed them at Vur’s face. Vur retreated like a crab, trying to avoid the soggy missiles. Larten and the others watched with their jaws open. They had never seen Traz as mad as this. Nobody was bothering with work any longer. All eyes were on the furious bully and his defenceless victim.
When the vat ran out, Traz plucked cocoons from the vat next to it. He had never before manhandled the valuable balls of silken thread, but something inside him had snapped. It wasn’t anything Vur had said or done. This had been building within the hate-filled foreman for a long time, and Vur was simply in the wrong place at the worst possible moment.
Traz stamped after the fleeing Vur, pelting him with cocoons, calling the boy and his mother all sorts of disgusting names. Larten saw Vur getting close to the door and prayed his cousin wouldn’t make it. He had a vision of Traz slamming the door shut on Vur, over and over, smashing the bony boy to pieces. It would be better if Vur collapsed in the middle of the floor. All Traz could hit him with then would be his fists, feet and cocoons.
As if responding to Larten’s silent prayer, Vur stopped crawling and held his ground ahead of the advancing foreman. But Vur hadn’t stopped to take a beating. Something had switched inside him, just as it had inside the vicious Traz. He knew it was lunacy, but he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was a reaction to one of the insults aimed at his dead mother. Maybe a bone had shattered in his ribs and the pain drove him momentarily insane. Or maybe life had been leading him to this point since he first stepped into the factory, and it was simply his destiny to one day hit back at a world that treated helpless children so repulsively.
Vur snatched a cocoon from the floor, hurled it at Traz and screamed, “Leave me alone, you…” He paused as the cocoon struck Traz between his eyes, then smiled and finished with an insult every bit as crude as any the foreman had used.
Traz came to a stunned halt. The cocoon had only left a wet, slimy mark behind, and he’d been called far worse in his time by drunkards, scoundrels and women of ill repute. But no child had ever spoken that way to him. And he had never been struck in front of a crowd of gawping children.
Traz was a beastly man and always had been. But in that second he slipped beyond the boundaries of mere brutality. He had beaten children senseless in the past. He had chewed off noses and ears, and the story about cutting out a girl’s tongue was true. Children had died under his watch from festering wounds and starvation, and he had laughed at their agonies. But he had never set out to openly murder one of his crew.
As the cocoon dripped on the floor and the echoes of Vur’s curse died away, Traz lost control of himself. It was abrupt and awful, and before anyone knew it was coming, he had already launched himself at the boy.
Traz scooped Vur up from the floor with one huge paw. Vur cursed him again and hit him with a fist instead of a soft cocoon. But Traz was in no mood to play. Instead of beating the boy, he swept Vur over to the nearest vat and shoved a cringing girl out of his way. Before Vur could protest, Traz upended him and thrust him underwater, pushing him all the way to the bottom and holding his head there with one thick, hairy, powerful hand.
Vur kicked out wildly. One of his feet struck Traz’s chin. The foreman grunted and slipped. Vur bobbed to the surface like a cocoon. But then Traz regained his balance and pushed Vur down again, using his free arm to bend back the boy’s legs. Ignoring the heat of the water, he held Vur in place, fingers squeezed tight into the flesh of the boy’s skull.
“Let him go!” Larten shouted, surprising even himself.
Traz’s eyes flared and he bared his teeth. “Stay out of this!”
“Stop it!” Larten cried. “You’ll kill him!”
“Aye,” Traz chuckled. “That’s what I’m aiming to do.”
Larten had lived in fear of the foreman since the age of eight, but there was no time for terror on that cold, grey Tuesday. Vur was drowning. Larten had to act swiftly or it would be too late.
Abandoning the safety of his vat, Larten raced towards the laughing Traz and threw himself at the monstrous man. The floor was wet and he hoped Traz would lose his footing when he was tackled. If he could get Vur out of the vat, they’d flee like rats and never come back. His father wouldn’t care, not when Larten told him what had happened. There were limits to what even the likes of Traz could get away with.
But Traz had clocked the Crepsley boy’s every move. He anticipated the leap and adjusted his stance. When Larten threw himself forward, Traz simply let go of Vur’s legs – not thrashing now – and slammed a fist down on Larten’s skull.
Larten felt as if his head had been caved in. For a few seconds he came close to blacking out. He would have fainted any other time, but he knew Vur needed him. He couldn’t afford to fall unconscious. So, drawing strength from deep within himself, he shook his head and lurched to his knees.
Traz was surprised. He thought he’d killed the boy, or at least hit him so hard that he’d slump around simple-minded for the rest of his days. Even in the midst of his murderous fit he found himself respecting the way Larten hauled himself up, first to his knees, then to his feet. His legs were swaying like a drunk’s, but Traz admired the boy for rising to make a challenge.
The worst of the foreman’s rage ebbed away and he grunted. “Stay down, you fool.”
Larten moaned in reply and staggered forward. This time he didn’t try to hit the huge man. He was only focused on Vur’s legs. They were as still as a crushed dog’s and Larten knew he had mere seconds in which to fish out his cousin — if it wasn’t already too late.
Traz squinted at the advancing child. When he realised Larten was only worried about the drowning boy, Traz looked down and hissed. Vur Horston was no longer moving and no bubbles of air were trickling from his mouth.
Traz felt no guilt, merely unease. Though he doubted his employers would care too much if word of this incident reached them, there was always the possibility that they might decide he