Darren Shan - Vampire Rites Trilogy

There weren’t many vampires in the quiet, smoky Hall – ourselves, a few more who’d recently arrived, and several green-uniformed guards. A vampire with long hair, wearing no top, came over to us with two round barrels. One was packed to the top with loaves of hard bread, the other was half-full of gristly bits of both raw and cooked meat.

We took as much as we wished to eat and set it down on the table (there were no plates), using our fingers and teeth to break off chunks. The vampire returned with three large jugs, filled with human blood, wine and water. I asked for a mug, but Gavner told me you had to pour straight from the jug. It was difficult – I soaked my chin and chest with water the first time I tried – but it was more fun than drinking out of a cup.

The bread was stale, but the vampire brought bowls of hot broth (the bowls were carved from the skulls of various beasts), and the bread was fine if you tore a piece off and dipped it in the thick, dark broth for a few seconds. “This is great,” I said, munching away at my third slice.

“The best,” Gavner agreed. He was already on his fifth.

“How come you’re not having any broth?” I asked Mr Crepsley, who was eating his bread plain.

“Bat broth does not agree with me,” he replied.

My hand froze on its way to my mouth. The soaked piece of bread I’d been holding fell to the table. “ Bat broth?” I yelped.

“Of course,” Gavner said. “What did you think it was made of?”

I stared down into the dark liquid of the bowl. The light was poor in the cavern, but now that I focused, I spotted a thin, leathery wing sticking out of the broth. “I think I’m going to be sick!” I moaned.

“Don’t be stupid,” Gavner chortled. “You loved it when you didn’t know what it was. Just get it down you and pretend it’s nice fresh chicken soup – you’ll eat a lot worse than bat broth before your stay in Vampire Mountain’s over!”

I pushed the bowl away. “Actually, I feel quite full,” I muttered. “I’ll leave it for now.” I glanced at Harkat, who was mopping up the last of his broth with a thick slice of bread. “You don’t mind eating bats?” I asked.

Harkat shrugged. “I’ve no taste … buds. Food is … all the same … to me.”

“You can’t taste anything ?” I asked.

“Bat … dog … mud – no difference. I have no … sense of smell … either. That’s why … no nose.”

“That’s something I meant to ask about,” Gavner said. “If you’re not able to smell without a nose, how can you hear without ears?”

“I have … ears,” Harkat said. “They’re under … skin.” He pointed to two spots on either side of his round green eyes. (He’d left his hood down.)

Gavner leant over the table to examine Harkat’s ears. “I see them!” he exclaimed and we all leaned over to gawk. Harkat didn’t mind – he liked the attention. His ‘ears’ looked like dry dates, barely visible beneath the grey skin.

“You can hear in spite of the skin stretched over them?” Gavner asked.

“Quire well,” Harkat replied. “Not as … good as vampires. But better … than humans.”

“How come you’ve got ears but no nose?” I asked.

“Mr Tiny … didn’t give me … nose. Never asked … why not. Maybe because … of air. Would need … another mask … for nose.”

It was strange to think that Harkat couldn’t smell the musky air of the Hall or taste the bat broth. No wonder the Little People never complained when I brought them rotting, stinking animals that had been dead for ages!

I was about to ask Harkat more about his limited senses when an ancient-looking vampire dressed in red sat down opposite Mr Crepsley and smiled. “I was expecting you weeks ago,” he said. “What took you so long?”

“Seba!” Mr Crepsley roared, and lunged across the table to clasp the older vampire’s shoulders. I was surprised – I’d never seen him behave so warmly towards another person. He was beaming when he let the vampire go. “It has been a long time, old friend.”

“Too long,” the older vampire agreed. “I have often searched for you mentally, in the hope that you were near. When I sensed you coming, I hardly dared believe it.”

The older vampire ran an eye over Harkat and me. He was wrinkled and shrunken with age, but the light of a younger man burned brightly in his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Larten?” he asked.

“Of course,” Mr Crepsley said. “You know Gavner Purl.”

“Gavner,” the vampire nodded.

“Seba,” Gavner replied.

“This is Harkat Mulds,” Mr Crepsley said.

“A Little Person,” Seba noted. “I have not seen one of those since Mr Tiny visited us when I was a boy. Greetings, Harkat Mulds.”

“Hello,” Harkat replied.

Seba blinked slowly. “He talks ?”

“Wait until you hear what he has to say!” Mr Crepsley said sombrely. Then, turning to me, he said, “And this is Darren Shan – my assistant.”

“Greetings, Darren Shan,” Seba smiled at me. He looked at Mr Crepsley strangely. “You, Larten – with an assistant?”

“I know,” Mr Crepsley coughed. “I always said I would never take one.”

“And so young,” Seba murmured. “The Princes will not approve.”

“Most probably not,” Mr Crepsley agreed miserably. Then he shook off his gloom. “Darren, Harkat – this is Seba Nile, the quartermaster of Vampire Mountain. Do not let his age fool you – he is as sly, cunning and quick as any vampire, and will get the better of those who try and best him.”

“As you know from experience,” Seba chuckled. “Do you remember when you set out to steal half a vat of my finest wine and replace it with a lesser vintage?”

“Please,” Mr Crepsley said, looking pained. “I was young and foolish. There is no need to remind me.”

“What happened?” I asked, delighted by the vampire’s discomfort.

“Tell him, Larten,” Seba said, and Mr Crepsley obeyed sullenly, like a child.

“He got to the wine first,” he muttered. “Emptied the vat and replaced the wine with vinegar. I had swallowed half a bottle before I realized. I spent the rest of the night retching.”

“No!” Gavner burst out laughing.

“I was young,” Mr Crepsley growled. “I did not know better.”

“But I taught you, Larten, did I not?” Seba remarked.

“Yes,” Mr Crepsley smiled. “Seba was my tutor. I learned most of what I know at his hands.”

The three vampires got to talking about old times and I sat listening. Most of what they said sailed clean over my head – names of people and places which meant nothing to me – and after a while I sat back and gazed around the cavern, studying the flickering lights of the fires and the shapes the smoke made in the air. I only realized I was dozing off when Mr Crepsley shook me gently and my eyes snapped open.

“The boy is tired,” Seba noted.

“He has never made the journey before,” Mr Crepsley said. “He is not accustomed to such hardship.”

“Come,” Seba said, standing. “I will find rooms for you. He is not the only one who needs to rest. We will talk more tomorrow.”

As the quartermaster of Vampire Mountain, Seba was in charge of the stores and living quarters. It was his job to make sure there was enough food and drink and blood for everyone, and that every vampire had a place to sleep. There were other vampires working for him, but he was the main man. Aside from the Princes, Seba was the most respected vampire in the mountain.

Seba bid me walk beside him as we made our way from the Hall of Osca Velm to our sleeping quarters. He pointed out various Halls as we passed, and told me their names – most of which I couldn’t pronounce, never mind remember – and what they were used for.