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“Darren,” he said, “what do you think about going back and becoming a member of the Cirque Du Freak?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MORE we discussed the idea, the more I liked it. Mr Crepsley said the Cirque performers would know what I was and would accept me as one of their own. The line-up of the show often changed, and there was nearly always someone who would be around my own age. I’d be able to hang out with them.
“What if I don’t like it there?” I asked.
“Then we leave,” he said. “I enjoyed travelling with the Cirque, but I am not crazy about it. If you like it, we stay. If you do not, we hit the road again.”
“They won’t mind me tagging along?” I asked.
“You will have to pull your weight,” he replied. “Mr Tall insists on everybody doing something. You will have to help set up chairs and lights, sell souvenirs, clean up afterwards, or do the cooking. You will be kept busy, but they will not over-work you. We will have plenty of time for our lessons.”
We decided to give it a go. At least it would mean a proper bed every night. My back was stiff from sleeping on floors.
Mr Crepsley had to find out where the show was before we could set off. I asked him how he was going to do that. He told me he was able to home in on Mr Tall’s thoughts.
“You mean he’s telepathic?” I asked, remembering what Steve had called people who could talk to each other using only their brains.
“Sort of,” Mr Crepsley said. “We cannot speak to each other with our thoughts but I can pick up his … aura, you could call it. Once I locate that, tracking him down will be no problem.”
“Could I locate his aura?” I wanted to know.
“No,” Mr Crepsley said. “Most vampires – along with a few gifted humans – can, but half-vampires cannot.”
He sat down in the middle of the church and closed his eyes. He was quiet for about a minute. Then his eyelids opened and he stood.
“Got him,” he said.
“So soon?” I asked. “I thought it would take longer.”
“I have searched for his aura many times,” Mr Crepsley explained. “I know what to look for. Finding him is as easy as finding a needle in a haystack.”
“That’s supposed to be hard, isn’t it?”
“Not for a vampire,” he grunted.
While we were packing to leave, I found myself gazing around the church. Something had been bothering me, but I wasn’t sure whether I should mention it to Mr Crepsley or not.
“Go on,” he said, startling me. “Ask whatever it is that is on your mind.”
“How did you know I wanted to ask something?” I gawped.
He laughed. “It does not take a vampire to know when a child is curious. You have been bursting with a question for ages. What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “Do you believe in God?” I asked.
Mr Crepsley looked at me oddly, then nodded slowly. “I believe in the gods of the vampires.”
I frowned. “Are there vampire gods?”
“Of course,” he said. “Every race has gods: Egyptian gods, Indian gods, Chinese gods. Vampires are no different.”
“What about heaven?” I asked.
“We believe in Paradise. It lies beyond the stars. When we die, if we have lived good lives, our spirits float free of the earth, to traverse the stars and galaxies, and come at last to a wonderful world at the other side of the universe – Paradise.”
“And if they don’t live good lives?”
“They stay here,” he said. “They remain bound to earth as ghosts, doomed to wander the face of this planet for ever.”
I thought about that. “What’s a good life for a vampire?” I asked. “How do they make it to Paradise?”
“Live cleanly,” he said. “Do not kill unless necessary. Do not hurt people. Do not spoil the world.”
“Drinking blood isn’t evil?” I asked.
“Not unless you kill the person you drink from,” Mr Crepsley said. “And even then, sometimes, it can be a good thing.”
“Killing someone can be good?” I gasped.
Mr Crepsley nodded seriously. “People have souls, Darren. When they die, those souls go to heaven or Paradise. But it is possible to keep a part of them here. When we drink small amounts of blood, we do not take any of a person’s essence. But if we drink lots, we keep part of them alive within us.”
“How?” I asked, frowning.
“By draining a person’s blood, we absorb some of that person’s memories and feelings,” he said. “They become part of us and we can see the world the way they saw it, and remember things which might otherwise have been forgotten.”
“Like what?”
He thought a moment. “One of my dearest friends is called Paris Skyle,” he said. “He is very old. Many centuries ago, he was friends with William Shakespeare.”
“The William Shakespeare – the guy who wrote the plays?”
Mr Crepsley nodded. “Plays and poems. But not all of Shakespeare’s poetry was recorded; some of his most famous verses were lost. When Shakespeare was dying, Paris drank from him – Shakespeare asked him to – and was able to tap into those lost poems and have them written down. The world would have been a poorer place without them.”
“But …” I stopped. “Do you only do that with people who ask, and who are dying?”
“Yes,” he said. “It would be evil to kill a healthy person. But to drink from friends who are close to death, and keep their memories and experiences alive …” He smiled. “That is very good indeed.
“Come,” he said then. “Brood about it on the way. We must be off.”
I hopped on Mr Crepsley’s back when we were ready to leave, and off we flitted. He still hadn’t explained how he could move so fast. It wasn’t that he ran quickly; it was more like the world slipped by as he ran. He said all full vampires could flit.
It was nice, watching the countryside drift away behind us. We ran up hills and across vast plains, faster than the wind. There was complete silence while we were flitting and nobody ever noticed us. It was as if we were surrounded by a magic bubble.
While we flitted I thought about what Mr Crepsley had said, about keeping people’s memories alive by drinking from them. I wasn’t sure how that would work, and made up my mind to ask him more about it at a later date.
Flitting was hard work; the vampire was sweating and I could see him starting to struggle. To help, I took out a bottle of human blood, uncorked it and held it to his lips so he could drink.
He nodded his silent thanks, wiped the sweat from his brow, and continued.
Finally, as the sky was beginning to lighten, he slowed to a halt. I hopped down off his back and looked around. We were in the middle of a country road, fields and trees all around us, not a house to be seen.
“Where’s the Cirque Du Freak?” I asked.
“A few kilometres further ahead,” he said, pointing. He was kneeling down, panting for breath.
“Did you run out of steam?” I asked, unable to keep the giggles out of my voice.
“No,” he glared. “I could have made it, but did not want to arrive looking flushed.”
“You’d better not rest too long,” I warned him. “Morning’s on its way.”
“I know precisely what time it is!” he snapped. “I know more about mornings and dawns than any living human. We have plenty of time on our side. A whole forty-three minutes yet.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” He stood, annoyed, and began to walk. I waited until he was a bit in front, then ran ahead of him.
“Hurry up, old man,” I jeered. “You’re getting left behind.”
“Keep it up,” he growled. “See what it gets you. A clip around the ear and a boot up the pants.”
He started trotting after a couple of minutes, and the two of us jogged along, side by side. I was in good spirits, happier than I’d been for months. It was nice having something to look forward to.
We passed a ragged bunch of campers on our way. They were starting to wake up and move around. A couple waved to us. They were funny looking people: long hair, strange clothes, weighed down with fancy earrings and bracelets.
There were banners and flags all over the camp. I tried reading them, but it was hard to focus while I was jogging, and I didn’t want to stop. From what I could gather, the campers had something to do with a protest against a new bypass.
The road was very curvy. After the fifth bend, we finally spotted the Cirque Du Freak, nestled in a clearing by the banks of a river. It was quiet – everyone was sleeping, I imagined – and, if we’d been in a car and not looking for the vans and tents, it would have been easy to miss.
It was an odd place for the circus to be. There was no hall or big tent for the freaks to perform in. I figured this must be a resting point between two towns.
Mr Crepsley weaved between the vans and cars with confidence. He knew exactly where he was going. I followed, less sure of myself, remembering the night I crept past the freaks and stole Madam Octa.
Mr Crepsley stopped at a long silver van and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately and the towering figure of Mr Tall was revealed. His eyes looked darker than ever in the dim light. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he had no eyeballs, only two black, empty spaces.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, voice low, lips hardly moving. “I thought I felt you searching for me.” He craned over Mr Crepsley and looked down to where I was shaking. “I see you’ve brought the boy.”
“May we come in?” Mr Crepsley asked.
“Of course. What is it one is supposed to say to you vampires?” He smiled. “Enter of your own free will?”
“Something like that,” Mr Crepsley replied, and from the smile on his face, I knew it was an old joke between them.
We entered the van and sat. It was pretty bare inside, just a few shelves with posters and leaflets for the Cirque, the tall red hat and gloves I’d seen him wear before, a couple of knick-knacks and a foldaway bed.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon, Larten,” Mr Tall said. Even when he was sitting down he looked enormous.
“A swift return had not been on the agenda, Hibernius.” Hibernius? That was a strange name. Still, it suited him somehow. Hibernius Tall. It had an odd ring to it.
“Did you run into trouble?” Mr Tall asked.
“No,” Mr Crepsley said. “Darren was not happy. I decided he would be better off here, among those of his own kind.”
“I see.” Mr Tall studied me curiously. “You have come a long way since I saw you last, Darren Shan,” he said.
“I preferred it where I was,” I grumbled.
“Then why did you leave?” he asked.
I glared at him. “You know why,” I said coldly.
He nodded slowly.
“Is it OK if we stay?” Mr Crepsley asked.
“Of course,” Mr Tall replied immediately. “Delighted to have you back, actually. We’re a bit under-staffed at the moment. Alexander Ribs, Sive and Seersa, and Gertha Teeth are off on holidays or business. Cormac Limbs is on his way to join us, but is late getting here. Larten Crepsley and his amazing performing spider will be an invaluable addition to the line-up.”
“Thank you,” Mr Crepsley said.
“What about me?” I asked boldly.
Mr Tall smiled. “You are less valuable,” he said, “but welcome all the same.”
I snorted, but said nothing.
“Where shall we be playing?” Mr Crepsley asked next.
“Right here,” Mr Tall told him.
“Here?” I piped up in surprise.
“That puzzles you?” Mr Tall enquired.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “I thought you only played in towns and cities, where you’d get big audiences.”
“We always get a big audience,” Mr Tall said. “No matter where we play, people will come. Usually we stick to more populated areas, but this is a slow time of the year for us. As I’ve said, several of our best performers are absent, as are … certain other members of our company.”
A strange, secretive look passed between Mr Tall and Mr Crepsley, and I felt I was being left out of something.
“So we are resting for a while,” Mr Tall went on. “We shall not be putting on any shows for a few days. We’re relaxing.”
“We passed a road-camp on our way,” Mr Crepsley said. “Are they causing any problems?”
“The foot-soldiers of NOP?” Mr Tall laughed. “They’re too busy defending trees and rocks to interfere with us.”
“What’s NOP?” I asked.
