Darren Shan - Hunters Of The Dusk

"Exactly," Evanna applauded. "People searching — or hunting — rarely find what they seek if it's placed directly before them. It's common to overlook that which is most obvious."

"What does any of this have to do with—" Mr. Crepsley began.

"The man in the robes… was no servant," Harkat interrupted grimly. Our heads turned questioningly. "That's what we overlooked… wasn't it?"

"Precisely," the witch said, and now there was a touch of sympathy to her tone. "By dressing and treating him as a servant — as they have since they took to the road — the vampaneze knew he'd be the last target anyone would focus on in the event of an attack." Holding up four fingers, Evanna slowly bent the index one over, and said, "Your brother didn't run because he was afraid, Vancha. He fled to save the life of the man he was protecting — the fake servant — the Lord of the Vampaneze !"

UNDER ORDERS from Evanna — she threatened to blind and deafen us if we disobeyed — we buried the dead vampaneze and vampet in the copse, digging deep graves and placing them on their backs, facing towards the sky and Paradise, before covering them over.

Vancha was inconsolable. On our return to the Cirque Du Freak, he demanded a bottle of brandy, then locked himself away in a small trailer and refused to answer our calls. He blamed himself for the escape of the Vampaneze Lord. If he'd tackled his brother, the Vampaneze Lord would have been at our mercy. It was the first of our four promised chances to kill him, and it was hard to imagine a simpler opportunity falling into our laps.

Mr. Tall already knew what had happened. He'd been expecting the confrontation and told us that the vampaneze had been trailing the Cirque Du Freak for more than a month.

"They knew we were coming?" I asked.

"No," he said. "They were following us for other reasons."

"But you knew we were coming… didn't you?" Harkat challenged him.

Mr. Tall nodded sadly. "I'd have warned you, but the consequences would have been dire. Those with insight into the future are forbidden to influence it. Only Desmond Tiny, can meddle directly in the affairs of time."

"Do you know where they have gone," Mr. Crepsley asked, "or when we are due to clash with them again?"

"No," Mr. Tall said. "I could find out, but I read the future as little as possible. What I can tell you is that Gannen Harst is prime protector of the Lord of the Vampaneze. The six you killed were normal guards who can be replaced. Harst is the key guardian. Where the Lord goes, he goes too. Had he been killed, the odds of future success would have weighed heavily on your side."

"If only I had gone after Harst instead of Vancha," Mr. Crepsley sighed.

Evanna, who'd said nothing since we returned, shook her head. "Don't waste time regretting lost chances," she said. "You weren't destined to face Gannen Harst at this stage of the hunt. Vancha was. It was fate."

"Let's be positive," I said. "We now know who the Vampaneze Lord is travelling with. We can spread Gannen Harst's description and tell our people to look out for him. And they won't be able to pull that servant disguise again — next time we'll be ready and know who to look for."

"This is true," Mr. Crepsley agreed. "Plus we have suffered no losses. We are as strong as we were at the start of our quest, we are wiser, and we still have three chances to kill him."

"Then why do we feel… so terrible?" Harkat asked glumly.

"Failure is always a bitter pill to swallow," Mr. Crepsley said.

We saw to our wounds after that. Harkat's arm was badly cut but no bones were broken. We set it in a sling, and Mr. Crepsley said it would be fine in a couple of nights. My right thumb was turning an ugly colour, but Mr. Tall said it wasn't infected and would be OK if I rested it.

We were preparing for sleep when we heard angry bellows. Hurrying through the camp — Mr. Crepsley with a heavy cloak tossed over his head to protect him from the morning sun — we found Vancha on the outskirts, tearing off his clothes, an empty bottle of brandy on the ground beside him, screaming at the sun. "Roast me!" he challenged it. "I don't care! Do your worst! See if I give a—"

"Vancha!" Mr. Crepsley snapped. "What are you doing?"

Vancha whirled, snatched up the bottle and pointed it at Mr. Crepsley as though it was a knife. "Stay away!" he hissed. "I'll kill you if you try to stop me!"

Mr. Crepsley came to a halt. He knew better than to mess with a drunken vampire, especially one of Vancha's powers. "This is stupid, Sire," he said. "Come inside. We will find another bottle of brandy and help you drink—"

"— to the health of the Vampaneze Lord!" Vancha shrieked crazily.

"Sire, this is madness," Mr. Crepsley said.

"Aye," Vancha agreed in a sadder, sober tone. "But this is a mad world, Larten. Because I spared the life of my brother — who once saved mine — our greatest enemy has escaped and our people face defeat. What sort of a world is it where evil is born of an act of goodness?"

Mr. Crepsley had no answer for that.

"Dying will not help, Vancha," Harkat said. " I should know."

"It won't help," Vancha agreed, "but it will punish, and I deserve to be punished. How could I face my fellow Princes and Generals after this? My chance to kill the Lord of the Vampaneze has passed. Better I pass with it than linger and shame us all."

"So you plan on staying out here and letting the sun kill you?" I asked.

"Aye," he chuckled.

"You're a coward," I sneered.

His expression hardened. "Take heed, Darren Shan — I'm in the mood to crack a few skulls before I die!"

"And a fool," I pressed on, regardless. I stormed past Mr. Crepsley and pointed accusingly at Vancha with my good left hand. "Who gave you the right to quit? What makes you think you can abandon the quest and damn us all?"

"What are you talking about?" he stammered, confused. "I'm no longer part of the quest. It's up to you and Larten now."

"Is it?" Turning, I searched for Evanna and Mr. Tall. I found them together, behind the crowd of circus performers and assistants which had been attracted by the howls of the Prince. "Lady Evanna. Mr. Tall. Answer if you may — does Vancha still have a part to play in the hunt for the Vampaneze Lord?"

Mr. Tall shared an uneasy glance with Evanna. She hesitated, then said grudgingly, "He has the power to influence the quest."

"But I failed," Vancha said, bewildered.

" Once ," I agreed. "But who's to say you won't have another chance? Nobody said we'd have one chance each. For all we know, all four opportunities are destined to fall to you !"

Vancha blinked, and his mouth slowly opened.

"Even if the chances are to be shared evenly," Mr. Crepsley chipped in, "there are a further three to go, and Darren and I are only two — therefore one of us must be destined to face the Vampaneze Lord twice if it goes down to the final encounter."

Vancha wavered on his feet, considering our words, then dropped the bottle and stumbled towards me. I caught and steadied him. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?" he groaned.

"Yes," I agreed, smiling, then led him back into the shade, where he joined us in slumber until the darkening of night.

We arose with the sinking of the sun and gathered in Mr. Tall's van. As dusk deepened, and Vancha drank mug after mug of steaming hot coffee to cure his hangover, we debated our next move and decided it would be for the best if we left the Cirque Du Freak. I would have liked to stay on longer, and so would Mr. Crepsley, but our destiny lay elsewhere. Besides, Gannen Harst might return with an army of vampaneze, and we didn't want to find ourselves boxed in, or bring the wrath of our foes down upon the circus folk.