Darren Shan - The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4

“You’re leaving me behind by myself.” Larten wasn’t dismayed. He would be able to get by for a few months without the guiding hand of his master.

“I am leaving you,” Seba said, “but not by yourself. There is a reason why I have not cast aside my shoes yet. I wish to make a detour before I set off. An old friend of mine is travelling nearby and I think you will enjoy his fine company.” The old vampire smiled warmly. “Tell me, Larten, did you ever hear tales in your youth of the weird, wild and wonderful Cirque Du Freak?”

Gervil was on fire. Flames engulfed his lower legs, his hands, his torso and his face. People in the crowd were screaming. Some had fainted. A few fled by the exits at the back of the large tent. On the small stage, Gervil writhed, fell to his knees and rolled around as if trying to quench the flames.

A couple of the braver men tried to mount the stage and rush to Gervil’s aid. But as they clambered on to the boards, the owner of the Cirque Du Freak, Mr Tall, appeared before them suddenly. It was as if he’d materialised out of thin air.

“Please return to your seats, gentlemen,” Mr Tall murmured in his deep, croaky voice, his lips barely moving. “Your efforts are appreciated, but unnecessary.”

The men stared doubtfully at the impossibly tall, bony man in the dark suit and red hat. He had huge hands, black teeth and even blacker eyes. They’d seen him at the start when he introduced the show. He had looked merely strange then, eerie in appearance, but otherwise harmless. Now, staring up into his pitch-black eyes, the men felt uneasy, as if the tall owner of the fantastical circus was peering into their hearts and could stop them with a whistle if he wished.

“The Cirque Du Freak has been touring the world for more than three hundred years,” Mr Tall muttered, and even though he spoke softly, everyone in the tent heard him. “We have lost several audience members in grisly circumstances during that time — as I told you before the show began, this is a place of fabulous dangers and we cannot guarantee your safety. But in all those years we have never lost a performer. And we will not break that fine record tonight. Observe!”

Mr Tall stepped aside and the people in the crowd saw that Gervil had stopped struggling. He was sitting in the middle of the stage, still covered in flames, but grinning. He waved at the stunned spectators, jumped to his feet and took a bow. As they realised this was part of his act and went wild with applause, Mr Tall slipped off stage and paused out of sight of the audience, where Larten was watching, mesmerised as he had been every time he’d seen Gervil in action.

“A lively pack tonight,” Mr Tall said. “But I think they will be quiet after this.” He studied the toys and sweets on the tray that Larten was holding. He picked up a statue of Gervil and frowned. It would stay lit for more than a month once its owner set it on fire. That was impressive, but Mr Tall wanted the flames to last for a year. He walked off with the statue, stroking the side of his cheek, considering the problem. Larten barely noticed. He was entranced by the real Gervil, who had now brought a woman on stage and was letting her set his tongue on fire.

Larten had been travelling with the Cirque Du Freak for six weeks and he still found himself transfixed at each performance. Tonight’s show had started normally enough. After Mr Tall’s introduction, a group of scantily clad dancing ladies had taken to the stage, to the delight of the men in the audience. Mr Tall didn’t like the dancers – he felt they cheapened the show – but they were expected. By the end, nobody would remember them — they’d stream away yammering about Gervil, Laveesha and the rest. But many had come to see semi-naked ladies, and Mr Tall knew that it paid to give your audience what it wanted. At least to begin with.

Rax, the human hammer, followed the dancers. He could hammer nails into wood and stone blocks using his head. It was a fun but unspectacular act. Merletta, a magician married to Verus the Ventriloquist, followed Rax. She was a skilled magician and wore almost as little as the dancers, so she was warmly received. But, like Rax, she offered nothing out of the ordinary.

Gervil was the first of the magical freaks. His appearance marked the real start of the show. The lucky people in the crowd would be taken on a voyage of dreamy, unbelievable dimensions from this point on. By the time they filed out an hour or so before midnight, their imaginations would never be the same again.

The hairless Gervil could set his flesh on fire and not be burnt. It was a truly remarkable gift. Larten knew that many people came to the Cirque Du Freak convinced it was a sham. And while they fell into a wondrous spell during the performances, he was sure a lot of them would convince themselves in the cold light of day that it had all been a clever act.

Larten knew better. He had travelled with these people, eaten with them, run errands for them, traded tales with them. Each performer was genuine. Mr Tall had no place in his show for fakes.

Gervil finished by setting his eyeballs on fire – that part of the act still shocked Larten – then left the stage to riotous applause. There was a break after that, during which Larten wove through the crowd, selling wares from his tray, shaking his head with a smile whenever he was asked how Gervil had endured the flames.

Salabas and Laveesha were the stars of the second act, Merletta sandwiched between them in order to allow the crowd to draw its breath. She often performed in all three acts, a variety of impressive tricks. She had amazed with playing cards to begin with. Now she displayed her escapology skills, wriggling free of chains and shackles, topping it off with an escape from beneath a dropping frame of stakes. Her routine was slick and exciting, but nothing compared to the pair set either side of it.

Salabas Skin looked like an ordinary person. He told a short story about his life and made it sound very dull. “But then, one day, I had an itch. I tugged at my skin and lo and behold…” He grabbed the flesh of his right forearm and pulled. The skin stretched away from the bone as if it was made of some supple fabric.

To gasps of disbelief and delight, Salabas proceeded to stretch the skin all over his body. He pulled out the wall of his stomach by nine inches on either side. Tugging the flesh of his face, he invited audience members up and had them attach more than fifty pegs to his cheeks. He tied the skin of his chest into a bow.

His grand finale involved Salabas gathering the skin of his throat. He raised it higher and higher until it formed a weird mask over his mouth and nose. It was both disgusting and hilarious. Salabas exited to a huge round of cheers, as he did every night.

Laveesha was billed as the tattooed lady. Most freak shows had a tattooed performer, someone who showed off their fleshly display of art, but Laveesha’s tattoos were mystical and spellbinding. They changed shape whenever somebody sat close to her and stared at them. The inks would shimmer and run, break apart, then reform to reveal a new image, reflecting a hidden desire or secret of the person watching.

Laveesha always warned her volunteers of the power of her tattoos, and urged them not to come close if they had any deep, dark secrets they wished to hide from the world. Killers had revealed their murderous deeds in her presence. So had other criminals. Many more had brought forth the faces of people they lusted after, or images of loved ones who had died.

Her show was unsettling and upsetting. Yet volun-teers always came, even after the first few had reeled away from the tattoos in tears or screaming or protesting their innocence. They were drawn to her, compelled to approach, darkly fascinated by what their souls would reveal. It was like having a mirror that showed only the features you least wanted to behold. A person might hate such a mirror, yet still feel driven to stare into it.