Darren Shan - Allies Of The Night

Mr. Crepsley and Harkat were awake in the morning to see me off. They ate breakfast with me and tried to act as though I'd nothing to worry about. "This is a wonderful opportunity," Mr. Crepsley said. "You have often complained of the life you lost when you became a half-vampire. This is a chance to revisit your past. You can be human again, for a while. It will be fascinating."

"Why don't you go instead of me then?" I snapped.

"I would if I could," he deadpanned.

"It'll be fun," Harkat assured me. "Strange at first, but give it time and you'll fit in. And don't feel inferior: these kids will know… a lot more about the school curriculum than you, but you are… a man of the world and know things that they will… never learn, no matter how old they live to be."

"You are a Prince," Mr. Crepsley agreed, "far superior to any there."

Their efforts didn't really help, but I was glad they were supporting me instead of mocking me.

With breakfast out of the way, I made a few ham sandwiches, packed them in my bag along with a small jar of pickled onions and a bottle of orange juice, and then it was time to leave.

"Do you want me to walk you to school?" Mr. Crepsley asked innocently. "There are many dangerous roads to cross. Or perhaps you could ask a lollypop lady to hold your hand and—"

"Stuff it," I grunted, and bolted out the door with my bag full of books.

Mahler's was a large, modern school, the buildings arranged in a square around an open-air, cement recreational area. The main doors were open when I arrived, so I entered and went looking for the headmaster's room. The halls and rooms were clearly signposted, and I found Mr. Olivers' room within a couple of minutes, but there was no sign of the headmaster. Half an hour passed — no Mr. Chivers. I wondered if Mr. Blaws had forgotten to tell the headmaster of my early arrival, but then I recalled the little man with the huge briefcase, and knew he wasn't the sort who forgot things like that. Maybe Mr. Chivers thought he was supposed to meet me by the main doors or the staffroom. I decided to check.

The staffroom could have held twenty-five or thirty teachers, but I saw only three when I knocked and entered in response to a cry of, "Come in." Two were middle-aged men, glued to thick chairs, reading enormous newspapers. The other was a burly woman, busy pinning sheets of printed paper to the walls.

"Help you?" the woman snapped without looking around.

"My name's Darren Horston. I'm looking for Mr. Chivers."

"Mr. Chivers isn't in yet. Have you an appointment?"

"Um. Yes. I think so."

"Then wait for him outside his office. This is the staffroom ."

"Oh. OK."

Closing the door, I picked up my bag and returned to the headmaster's room. There was still no sign of him. I waited ten more minutes, then went searching for him again. This time I made for the school entrance, where I found a group of teenagers leaning against a wall, talking loudly, yawning, laughing, calling each other names and cursing pleasantly.

They were dressed in Mahler uniforms like me, but the clothes looked natural on them.

I approached a gang of five boys and two girls. They had their backs to me and were discussing some programme they'd seen on TV the night before. I cleared my throat to attract their attention, then smiled and stuck out a hand to the nearest boy when he turned. "Darren Horston," I grinned. "I'm new here. I'm looking for Mr. Chivers. You haven't seen him, have you?"

The boy stared at my hand — he didn't shake it — then into my face.

"You wot?" he mumbled.

"My name's Darren Horston," I said again. "I'm looking for—"

"I 'eard you the first time," he interrupted, scratching his nose and studying me suspiciously.

"Shivers ain't in yet," a girl said, and giggled as though she'd said something funny.

"Shivers ain't ever in before ten past nine," one of the boys yawned.

"An even later on a Monday," the girl said.

" Everyone knows that," the boy who'd first spoken added.

"Oh," I muttered. "Well, as I said, I'm new here, so I can't be expected to know things that everyone else knows, can I?" I smiled, pleased to have made such a clever point on my first day in school.

"Get stuffed, asswipe," the boy said in response, which wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting.

"Pardon?" I blinked.

"You 'eard." He squared up to me. He was about a head taller, dark-haired, with a nasty squint. I could knock the stuffing out of any human in the school, but I'd momentarily forgotten that, and backed away from him, unsure of why he was acting this way.

"Go on, Smickey," one of the other boys laughed. "Do 'im!"

"Nah," the boy called Smickey smirked. "He ain't worth it."

Turning his back on me, he resumed his conversation with the others as though nothing had interrupted it. Shaken and confused, I slouched away. As I turned the corner, out of human but not vampire hearing, I heard one of the girls say, "That guy's seriously weird!"

"See that bag he was carrying?" Smickey laughed. "It was the size of a cow! He must have half the books in the country in it!"

"He spoke weird," the girl said.

"And he looked even weirder," the other girl added. "Those scars and red patches of flesh. And did you see that awful haircut? He looked like somefing out of a zoo!"

"Too right," Smickey said. "He smelt like it too!"

The gang laughed, then talk turned to the TV programme again. Trudging up the stairs, clutching my bag to my chest, feeling very small and ashamed of my hair and appearance, I positioned myself by Mr. Chivers' door, hung my head, and miserably waited for the headmaster to show.

It had been a discouraging start, and though I liked to think things could only get better, I had a nasty feeling in the pit of my belly that they were going to get a whole lot worse!

MR. CHIVERS arrived shortly after a quarter past nine, puffing and red-faced. (I later learnt that he cycled to school.) He hurried past me without saying anything, opened the door to his room, and stumbled to the window, where he stood staring down at the cement quad. Spotting someone, he slid open the window and roared, "Kevin O'Brien! Have you been kicked out of class already?"

"Wasn't my fault, sir," a young boy shouted back. "The top came off my pen in my bag, ruining my homework. Could have happened to anyone, sir. I don't think I should be kicked out for—"

"Report to my office during your next free period, O'Brien!" Mr. Chivers interrupted. "I have a few floors for you to scrub."

"Aw, sir!"

Mr. Chivers slammed the window shut. "You!" he said, beckoning me in. "What are you here for?"

"I'm—"

"You didn't break a window, did you?" he cut in. "Because if you did, there'll be hell and leather to pay!"

"I didn't break a window," I snapped. "I haven't had time to break anything. I've been stuck outside your door since eight, waiting. You re late!"

"Oh?" He sat down, surprised by my directness. "Sorry. A flat tyre. It's the little monster who lives two floors below. He…" Clearing his throat, he remembered who he was and adopted a scowl. "Never mind about me — who are you and why were you waiting?"

"My name's Darren Horston. I'm—"

"— the new boy!" he exclaimed. "Sorry — clean forgot you were coming." Getting up, he took my hand and pumped it. "I was away this weekend — orienteering — only got back last night. I jotted down a note and pinned it to the fridge on Friday, but I must have missed it this morning."

"No problem," I said, freeing my fingers from his sweaty hand. "You're here now. Better late than never."

He studied me curiously. "Is that how you addressed your previous headmaster?" he asked.