The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan
he silences me with a smile. “It’s OK. I asked. You refused. That’s the end of it. It was a request, not a command.”
I glare at him suspiciously. “It was?”
He nods. “There are others who can help. One of my friends is a near grandmaster. He’ll face Lord Loss. I’ll handle Vein and Artery.” He nods at a plain chess board to my left. “But I’d be obliged if you’d help me carry the sets down.”
My eyes narrow. “If you’re trying to trick me…”
“No tricks,” he says, and I believe him. Getting out of his way, I pick up the board and follow him out of the room.
→ Down the stairs to the main hall. Taking our time, careful not to drop any pieces. Thinking hard about what Dervish said.
“If you’ve got friends who can help,” I mutter, “why ask me?”
“Billy’s your brother,” Dervish replies. “I thought you might want to be part of this.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” I press. “You need the best person for the job. Why offer it to me?”
“Ideally I want to face Lord Loss with someone who’s proved their courage and ability under fire,” he says. “Someone who’s faced a demon and lived. I only personally know six people who’ve done that. Meera was one of them. But she can’t do it now.”
“What about the others?”
“Four of them are currently out of contact.”
He reaches the door to the cellar and stops talking while he opens it with his elbows. Silence as we descend. I wait until we’re at the wine rack which hides the entrance to the secret passageway before asking, “And the sixth?”
“You’re the sixth,” he says, stepping forward into darkness.
→ The secret cellar. Five chess sets lie in place on the three tables, which we’ve shoved together, piling the books and other odds and ends on the floor. Dervish is lining up the pieces, making sure they’re in the right places. Bill-E’s still chewing on the deer carcass. He spits and snarls at us every so often.
Dervish hasn’t said anything since our trip down with the first two boards. We’ve worked silently, carting in the boards and pieces, clearing the tables and rearranging them. It’s only now, while I watch him adjust the pieces, that I work up the courage to broach the subject again.
“I still don’t understand why you want me to help. Why not wait for Meera to recover? You don’t have to stage the contest tonight, do you?”
“No,” Dervish says. “But waiting’s dangerous. Lord Loss can reverse the change, even in one who’s been a werewolf for several years. But often the mind can’t be restored. Every day we wait drives Bill-E closer to the point from which it’s not worth bringing him back.
“Besides,” he adds, “how would we explain his absence to his grandparents, teachers, the police? We’re in the middle of an unreal adventure, but we’re still part of the real world. Try telling a cop you’ve got a boy locked up in a cage because he’s a werewolf — see where it lands you!”
“I didn’t think of that.” I manage a sick smile, which quickly fades. “I’m just a kid,” I say quietly. “I wouldn’t be any good to you.”
Dervish wipes a spot of dust from the head of a king. “You’ve fought demons and lived to tell the tale. You’ve tapped into your magic potential. You can fight them on their own terms — even if you are just a kid,” he adds with a grin.
“I want to help,” I groan. “I’d do almost anything to get Bill-E out of the hell he’s in. But I saw Artery work Gret like a puppet, and–”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Dervish interrupts kindly. “You’re under no obligation. You came here to recover, not get dragged deeper into a nightmare. I shouldn’t have asked. And I wouldn’t have, except…”
He doesn’t finish, so I say it for him. “…except you need me.”
He shrugs. “Like I said, there’s a friend I can call. But I’d rather have you. If I told you anything else, I’d be a liar.”
→ Studying Bill-E as Dervish fetches weapons. His face and hands red with the deer’s blood. Patting his stomach. Smiling jaggedly. Gazing at me through unnatural yellow eyes.
Thinking about Lord Loss. Recalling the ferocious power and speed of Artery and Vein. Fearing for my uncle’s and brother’s lives.
Dervish enters with a small axe, a mace and a sword. Lays them on the floor with the others he’s already installed. Part of the rules — he can use as many weapons as he pleases.
“Would you want me to play chess or fight?” I ask, wishing I could keep my mouth shut.
“I’ve seen you play,” Dervish says. “No offence, but you’d have to fight — Lord Loss would crush you on the chess boards.”
“But you’d stand a better chance against Vein and Artery than me,” I counter. “You’re stronger and experienced. I know nothing about weapons or magic.”
“You don’t have to,” Dervish says. “The magic knows you. That’s what matters. You tapped into your potential when you faced the demons before. You’d tap into it again. Instinct.”
“But you’re the logical choice,” I insist. “You’d be better than me.”
Dervish nods sombrely. “Probably.”
“And your friend’s better at chess than me. So you fighting and him playing is the ideal partnership. Right?”
Dervish looks at me curiously. “You don’t have to talk yourself out of this,” he says. “You’ve said you don’t want to do it and I’ve accepted your decision.”
“But I feel lousy!” I cry. “Like I’m letting you down!”
“You’re not,” Dervish says. “Ability and potential mean nothing if the will to compete isn’t there.”
“But even if I had the will, you’d still be better off with the other guy, wouldn’t you?” I press, hoping he’ll agree.
Dervish shakes his head and doesn’t answer.
→ The room where Meera lies unconscious. Dervish tries again to wake her. Again he fails. He returns to his study, rubbing the back of his neck. Sitting behind his desk, he runs his fingers over a phone book. “Time to call my friend,” he says, glancing up at me. “Final chance to change your mind, Grubbs.”
I don’t say a word.
Dervish opens the book and searches for a number. “Pablo should be here within a few hours. You can go stay in the Vale if you want, but you don’t need to. You’ll be safe here. The demons won’t be able to leave the cellar.”
I don’t reply. Thinking of the battle to come. Filled with shame.
“If Pablo and I defeat Lord Loss and his familiars, but I lose the one-on-one fight later,” Dervish continues, “you’ll have to take care of me.”
“What?” I mumble.
“My body will survive if I lose the battle after the chess match,” he explains, “but my soul and mind won’t. I’ll be able to move about, but I won’t be capable of thought or speech. I won’t be able to shop, pay bills, cook, clean the house, etc. You’ll have to babysit me, or hire somebody to do it.”
Dervish taps a drawer in his desk. “The necessary forms and information sheets are here. Names and numbers of lawyers and bankers, details of various credit accounts. You have my permission — written as well as verbal — to manage my estate as you see fit, though a large portion