Vampire Destiny Trilogy. Darren Shan
gaze that will get worse if you not stop?”
“He … he…” I gulped deeply.
“Empty is no good,” Truska said. “You must fill eyes, if not with joy, then with sadness and pain. Even hate is better than empty.”
“Mr Crepsley told me I wasn’t to waste my life on hate,” I said promptly, and realized this was the first time I’d mentioned his name since arriving at the Cirque Du Freak. “Mr Crepsley,” I said again, slowly, and the eyes in the mirror wrinkled. “Mr Crepsley,” I sighed. “Larten. My friend.” My eyelids were trembling now, and tears gathered at the edges. “He’s dead,” I moaned, turning to face Truska. “Mr Crepsley’s dead!”
With that, I threw myself into her embrace, locked my arms around her waist, and wailed, finally finding the tears to express my grief. I wept long and hard, and the sun had risen on a new morning before I cried myself out and slid to the floor, where Truska slipped a pillow under my head and hummed a strange, sad tune as I closed my eyes and slept.
IT WAS a cold but dry March—star-filled nights, frost-white dawns and sharp blue days. The Cirque Du Freak was performing in a large town situated close to a waterfall. We’d been there four nights already, and it would be another week before we moved on—lots of tourists were coming to our shows, as well as the residents of the town. It was a busy, profitable time.
In the months after I first cried in Truska’s tent, I’d wept a lot for Mr Crepsley. It had been horrible – the slightest reminder of him could set me off – but necessary. Gradually the tearful bursts had lessened, as I came to terms with my loss and learnt to live with it.
I was lucky. I had lots of friends who helped. Truska, Mr Tall, Hans Hands, Cormac Limbs, Evra and Merla all talked me through the hard times, discussing Mr Crepsley with me, gently guiding me back to normality. Once I’d patched things up with Harkat and apologized for the way I’d treated him, I relied on the Little Person more than anyone else. We sat up many nights together, remembering Mr Crepsley, reminding each other of his personal quirks, things he’d said, expressions he’d favoured.
Now, months later, the tables had turned and I was doing the comforting. Harkat’s nightmares had returned. He’d been suffering from agonizing dreams when we left Vampire Mountain at the start of our quest, dreams of wastelands, stake-filled pits and dragons. Mr Tiny said the dreams would worsen unless Harkat went with him to find out who he’d been before he died, but Harkat chose to accompany me instead on my hunt for the Vampaneze Lord.
Later, Evanna helped me stop his nightmares. But the witch said it was only a temporary solution. When the dreams resumed, Harkat would have to find out the truth about himself or be driven insane.
For the last month Harkat had been tormented every time he slept. He stayed awake as long as he could – Little People didn’t need much sleep – but whenever he dozed off, the nightmares washed over him and he’d thrash and scream in his sleep. It had reached the stage where he had to be tied down when he slept—otherwise he stumbled through the camp, hitting out at imaginary monsters, causing damage to anything he encountered.
After five days and nights, he’d fallen asleep at the end of our latest show. I’d tied him down in his hammock, using strong ropes to strap his arms by his sides, and sat beside him while he tossed and moaned, wiping green beads of sweat from his forehead, away from his lidless eyes.
Finally, early in the morning, after hours of shrieking and straining, the cries stopped, his eyes cleared and he smiled weakly. “You can untie me … now. All done for tonight.”
“That was a long one,” I muttered, undoing the knots.
“That’s the trouble with putting … sleep off so long,” Harkat sighed, swinging out of his hammock. “I postpone the nightmares for a while, but I … sleep longer.”
“Maybe you should try hypnosis again,” I suggested. We’d done everything we could think of to ease Harkat’s pain, asking all the performers and crew in the Cirque if they knew of a cure for nightmares. Mr Tall had tried hypnotizing him, Truska had sung to him while he slept, Rhamus Twobellies had rubbed a foul-smelling ointment over his head—all to no avail.
“No good,” Harkat smiled tiredly. “Only one person can help—Mr Tiny. If he returns and shows me how to … find out who I was, the dreams … will hopefully stop. Otherwise …” He shook his squat, grey, neckless head.
After washing off the sweat in a barrel of cold water, Harkat accompanied me to Mr Tall’s van, to learn our schedule for the day. We’d been doing a variety of odd jobs since hooking up with the Cirque, putting up tents, fixing broken seats and equipment, cooking and washing.
Mr Tall had asked me if I’d like to perform in the shows, as his assistant. I told him I didn’t want to—it would have felt too weird being on stage without Mr Crepsley.
When we reported for duty, Mr Tall was standing in the doorway of his van, beaming broadly, his little black teeth shining dully in the early morning light. “I heard you roaring last night,” he said to Harkat.
“Sorry,” Harkat said.
“Don’t be. I mention it only to explain why I didn’t come to you straightaway with the news—I thought it best to let you sleep.”
“What news?” I asked warily. In my experience, unexpected news was more often bad than good.
“You have visitors,” Mr Tall chuckled. “They arrived late last night, and have been waiting impatiently.” He stepped aside and waved us in.
Harkat and I shared an uncertain glance. then entered cautiously. Neither of us carried a weapon – there seemed to be no need while we travelled with the Cirque Du Freak – but we bunched our hands into fists, ready to lash out if we didn’t like the look of our “visitors”. Once we saw the pair sitting on the couch, our fingers relaxed and we bounded forward, excited.
“Debbie!” I yelled. “Alice! What are you doing here?”
Debbie Hemlock and Chief Inspector Alice Burgess rose to hug us. They were simply dressed in trousers and jumpers. Debbie had cut her hair since I last saw her. It was short and tightly curled. I didn’t think it suited her, but I said nothing about it.
“How are you?” Debbie asked once I’d released her. She was studying my eyes quietly, checking me out.
“Better,” I smiled. “It’s been rough but I’m over the worst—touch wood.”
“Thanks to his friends,” Harkat noted wryly.
“What about you?” I asked the women. “Did the vampaneze return? How did you explain things to your bosses and friends?” Then, “What are you doing here?” I asked again, perplexed.
Debbie and Alice laughed at my confusion, then sat down and explained all that had happened since we parted in the forest outside the city. Rather than make a genuine report to her superiors, Alice claimed to have been unconscious the entire time since being kidnapped by Vancha March. It was a simple story, easy to stick to, and nobody had cause to disbelieve her.
Debbie faced rougher questioning—when the vampaneze told the police we were holding Steve Leonard, they also mentioned Debbie’s name. She’d protested her innocence, said she only knew me as a student, and knew nothing at all about Steve. With Alice’s support, Debbie’s story was finally accepted and she was released. She’d been shadowed for a few weeks, but eventually the police left her to get on with her life.
The officials knew nothing of the battle that had taken place in the tunnels, or of the vampaneze, vampets and vampires who’d been busy in their city. As far as they were concerned, a group of killers – Steve Leonard, Larten Crepsley, Darren Shan, Vancha March and Harkat Mulds – were responsible for the murders. One escaped during their arrest. The others broke out of prison later and