Darren Shan - The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4

Larten had a quick bath in a tub of chilly water out back. He shared the caravan with Verus and Merletta, and although the magician was easy-going in most ways, she was strict when it came to cleanliness. She insisted that Larten wash every third day. He had grumbled a lot to begin with, but now he didn’t mind. After Larten had dried himself, he dressed and reported for duty. People were already dismantling the tent, supervised by Mr Tall. Larten helped stack and move chairs, then joined in the rolling of the canvas, an arduous but enjoyable task in which most members of the circus took part.

By midday everything was packed away neatly and the troupe took to the road in their horse-drawn carriages. Larten rode up front with Verus, enjoying the scenery from his seat beside the ventriloquist. Verus never forced words from the mouths of his friends — he kept his special talent for the stage. He was a quiet man at times like this, saying little, focused on the horse.

When Larten tired of the scenery, he withdrew and asked Merletta to teach him some tricks. He didn’t have any freakish abilities, so he could never be a star at the Cirque Du Freak. But he had a quick hand and a keen eye, and was able to copy any trick once he’d seen it performed slowly. Merletta said he could carve out a career for himself as a magician if that was the path he wished to take. Larten knew he wouldn’t – his heart was set on becoming a Vampire General – but it was fun to play at being a magician’s apprentice.

Merletta ran him through a few of the card tricks that he’d already mastered, then taught him some new moves. He was able to slide cards around swiftly between his fingers and could make them disappear and reappear at will. Merletta was sure that he would soon overtake her in this discipline if he stuck with it. He was a natural at cards.

When it came to locks, chains and handcuffs, Larten already outshone his tutor. Merletta had never seen anyone pick a lock as swiftly or easily as the orange-haired teenager. There wasn’t much she could teach him about escapology — once he’d learnt the basics, he had sprinted ahead of her.

Larten strolled between caravans later, visiting the friends he had made since linking up with the Cirque Du Freak. Some performers were vain and didn’t mingle much – Gervil and Rax were especially pompous – but most were welcoming, as were the crew. Larten had never been more relaxed than he was here. If he hadn’t felt the itch to explore the night, he would have been delighted to put down roots and call the circus home.

He wound up in Mr Tall’s caravan. The owner of the travelling show was a solitary man. During their long hours of travel, he kept to himself. He didn’t like physical contact with other people and hadn’t even shaken Seba’s hand when the vampire dropped off Larten. The pair were old friends – Mr Tall had received his visitor warmly and they’d swapped tales for hours – but the giant preferred not to touch those he mixed with.

Although Mr Tall didn’t usually encourage visits, he had told Larten to call in on him as often as he liked. Perhaps it was because Larten was Seba’s assistant, or maybe he had seen something in the orange-haired youth that interested him. Either way, the pair spent a couple of hours together most days.

Mr Tall was working on a Laveesha doll when Larten knocked and entered. The oversized man had enormous hands, but his fingers were even nimbler than Larten’s. Using his fingernails and a tiny, sharpened piece of glass, he could make adjustments to a doll or statue that others could only see with the aid of a magnifying glass.

Mr Tall passed Larten a small set of jars filled with paint and he set to work on the pieces awaiting his attention. They often worked in silence like this, but on some days Mr Tall asked about Larten’s past, or told him stories of Seba, Paris and other vampires. Larten always listened intently, absorbing every word, eager to learn anything that he could about the clan.

“Seba sends you his regards,” Mr Tall said after a while. “He is doing well and has almost made it to Vampire Mountain. No broken legs yet.”

The pair shared a chuckle. Even though he wasn’t a vampire, Mr Tall was able to bond mentally with members of the clan. When two vampires bonded, one was able to find the other no matter where in the world they were. They could also trade basic messages. Larten didn’t know how Mr Tall was able to bond with vampires, but he had no intention of asking. Mr Tall was even more secretive than Seba Nile.

“You hunger to follow in his footsteps,” Mr Tall noted.

“Aye,” Larten nodded, sighing happily at the thought of making the trek to the legendary mountain.

“It’s a hard life,” Mr Tall said. “Long, perilous, dark. You would have a much more rewarding career if you remained with us and worked on your stage skills.”

Larten hadn’t told Mr Tall about his lessons with Merletta, but he wasn’t surprised that the circus owner knew.

“Why do you wish to become a vampire?” Mr Tall asked.

Larten paused, then frowned and admitted, “I’m not sure.” It was a question he had never asked himself. He’d just followed his instincts since that first meeting with Seba in the crypt.

“Do the centuries appeal to you?” Mr Tall pressed. “Many humans yearn to lead long lives. Do you want to extend your natural time and live four hundred years… five hundred… more?”

Larten shrugged. “I’m not too bothered.”

“Is it the power? You will be stronger than any human when you are blooded. You can force people to do as you wish, to respect and obey you.”

“Seba…” Larten stopped. He’d been about to tell Mr Tall of Seba’s decision not to become a Vampire Prince. But on reflection he wasn’t sure if he should. That might not be something that Seba wanted to share, even with as close a friend as Hibernius Tall.

“Seba told me a vampire shouldn’t seek power,” Larten said instead. “We leave humanity behind when we’re blooded. He said the Generals take a dim view of any vampire who tries to set himself up as a lord of humans.”

“So why do you hunger to join the clan?” Mr Tall asked again and looked up. His gaze was dark and burning. Larten wanted to look away – he felt oddly afraid – but he didn’t break eye contact.

“I don’t know,” Larten said. “It’s just something I have to do. If I could explain it, I would, but…”

Mr Tall grunted. “A victim of destiny,” he muttered and his head turned slightly as if he was sniffing the air. Larten realised that the caravan had come to a halt. Mr Tall always led the way, guiding his troupe from one place to another. He had a faithful piebald horse, but rarely sat up front to direct her. He was able to transmit his thoughts to the beast and steer the caravan from within.

Larten glanced out of the window. They had come to a crossroads. The horse had started to take a right turn, but now she hesitated, her head flicking to the left. To an outsider it would have looked like she was unsure of which path to take. But Larten knew that it was actually Mr Tall who was caught between two minds.

“There are some in life who serve destiny unconsciously,” Mr Tall said softly. “Their lives are mapped out for them, but they are unaware of it. I envy their ignorance — I, alas, know far too much. Others make of life what they wish. They are free to choose and go this way or that on a whim. I envy their freedom — I, unfortunately, am bound never to make such a loose choice.

“I see the paths of other people sometimes.” Mr Tall’s voice was now a whisper and his eyes were distant. Larten wasn’t sure if the tall man even knew that he was speaking. “I try not to, but on occasions I cannot avoid it. It’s tempting to make a change, to interfere, to avert the pain that one can see lying in wait for others. Destiny is a tower of cards — nudge one just an inch and everything stacked on top comes crashing down. To be able to help people, but to live in terror of the dire consequences…”