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“Are my Little People near?” he asked. The Little People were short creatures who dressed in blue robes with hoods, never spoke, and ate anything that moved (including humans!). A handful of the mysterious beings almost always travelled with the Cirque Du Freak, and there were eight of them with us at that time.
“They’re probably in their tent,” I said. “I took them in some food an hour or so ago and I think they’re still eating.” One of my jobs was to hunt for the Little People. Evra used to do it with me, until he grew up and demanded less messy chores. Nowadays I was helped by a couple of young humans, children of the Cirque helpers.
“Excellent,” Mr Tiny beamed, and started away. “Oh,” he paused, “one last thing. Tell Larten not to leave until I’ve had a word with him.”
“I think we’re in a hurry,” I said. “We might not have time to–”
“Just tell him I want a word,” Mr Tiny interrupted. “I’m sure he’ll make time for me.” With that, he tipped his glasses at us, waved farewell and moved on. I shared a worried look with Evra, found some matches and stuck them in my bag, then hurried off to wake Mr Crepsley.
CHAPTER TWO
MR CREPSLEY was snappish when I woke him – he hated rising before the sun went down – but stopped complaining when I explained why I’d disturbed his sleep. “Mr Tiny,” he sighed, scratching the long scar which ran down the left side of his face. “I wonder what he wants?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but he said not to leave until he’d had a word with you.” I lowered my voice and whispered, “We could sneak away without being seen if we hurried. Twilight’s not far off. You could stand an hour or so of sunlight if we kept to the shadows, couldn’t you?”
“I could,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “were I given to fleeing like a dog with its tail between its legs. But I am not. I will face Desmond Tiny. Bring me my finest cloak — I like to look my best for visitors.” That was as close to a joke as the vampire was likely to come — he didn’t have much of a sense of humour.
An hour later, with the sun setting, we made our way to Mr Tall’s caravan, where Mr Tiny was regaling the owner of the Cirque Du Freak with tales of what he’d seen in a recent earthquake.
“Ah, Larten!” Mr Tiny boomed. “Prompt as ever.”
“Desmond,” Mr Crepsley replied stiffly.
“Have a seat,” Mr Tiny said.
“Thank you, but I will stand.” Nobody liked sitting when Mr Tiny was around – in case they needed to make a quick getaway.
“I hear you’re casting off for Vampire Mountain,” Mr Tiny said.
“We leave presently,” Mr Crepsley confirmed.
“This is the first Council you’ve been to in nearly fifty years, isn’t it?”
“You are well informed,” Mr Crepsley grunted.
“I keep an ear to the ground.”
There was a knock at the door, and Mr Tall admitted two of the Little People. One walked with a slight limp. He’d been with the Cirque Du Freak almost as long as me. I called him Lefty, though that was only a nickname — none of the Little People had real names.
“Ready, boys?” Mr Tiny asked. The Little People nodded. “Excellent!” He smiled at Mr Crepsley. “The path to Vampire Mountain is as hazardous as ever, isn’t it?”
“It is not easy,” Mr Crepsley agreed cagily.
“Dangerous for a young snip of a thing like Master Shan, wouldn’t you say?”
“Darren can look after himself,” Mr Crepsley said, and I grinned proudly.
“I’m sure he can,” Mr Tiny responded, “but it’s unusual for one so young to make the journey, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Mr Crepsley said curtly.
“That’s why I’m sending these two along as guards.” Mr Tiny waved a hand at the Little People.
“Guards?” Mr Crepsley barked. “We do not need any. I have made the trip many times. I can look after Darren myself.”
“You can indeed,” Mr Tiny cooed, “but a little help never went astray, did it?”
“They would get in the way,” Mr Crepsley growled. “I do not want them.”
“My Little People? Get in the way?” Mr Tiny sounded shocked. “They exist only to serve. They’ll be like shepherds, watching over the two of you while you sleep.”
“Nevertheless,” Mr Crepsley insisted, “I do not want–”
“This is not an offer,” Mr Tiny interrupted. Though he spoke softly, the menace in his voice was unmistakable. “They’re going with you. End of story. They’ll hunt for themselves and see to their own sleeping arrangements. All you have to do is make sure you don’t ‘lose’ them in the snowy wastelands on the way.”
“And when we get there?” Mr Crepsley snapped. “Do you expect me to take them inside? That is not permitted. The Princes will not stand for it.”
“Yes they will,” Mr Tiny disagreed. “Don’t forget by whose hands the Hall of Princes was built. Paris Skyle and the rest know on which side their blood is buttered. They won’t object.”
Mr Crepsley was furious – practically shaking with rage – but the anger seeped out of him as he stared into Mr Tiny’s eyes and realized there was no arguing with the little man. In the end he nodded and averted his gaze, ashamed at having to bow to the demands of this interfering man.
“I knew you’d see it my way,” Mr Tiny beamed, then turned his attention to me. “You’ve grown,” he noted. “Inside, where it matters. Your battles with the Wolf Man and Murlough have toughened you.”
“How do you know about that?” Mr Crepsley gasped. It was common knowledge that I’d had a run-in with the fearsome Wolf Man, but nobody was meant to know of our fight with Murlough. If the vampaneze ever found out, they’d hunt us to the ends of the Earth and kill us.
“I know all manner of things,” Mr Tiny cackled. “This world holds no secrets from me. You’ve come a long way,” he addressed me again, “but there’s a long way yet to go. The path ahead isn’t easy, and I’m not just talking about the route to Vampire Mountain. You must be strong, and keep faith in yourself. Never admit defeat, even when it seems inevitable.”
I hadn’t expected such a speech, and I listened in a daze, numbly wondering why he was sharing such words with me.
“That’s all I have to say,” he finished, standing and rubbing his heart-shaped watch. “Time’s ticking. We’ve all got places to be and deadlines to meet. I’ll be on my way. Hibernius, Larten, Darren.” He bowed briefly to each of us in turn. “We’ll meet again, I’m sure.” He turned, headed for the door, shared a look with the Little People, then let himself out. In the silence which followed, we stared at one another speechlessly, wondering what all that had been about.
Mr Crepsley wasn’t happy but he couldn’t postpone leaving — making it to the Council on time was more important than anything else, he told me. So, while the Little People stood waiting outside his van, I helped him pack.
“Those clothes will not do,” he said, referring to my bright pirate costume which still fitted me after all the years of wear and tear. “Where we are going, you would stand out like a peacock. Here,” he thrust a bundle at me. I unrolled it to reveal a light grey jumper and trousers, along with a woolly cap.
“How long have you been preparing for this?” I asked.
“Some time now,” he admitted, pulling on clothes of a similar colour to mine, in place of his usual red attire.
“Couldn’t you have told me about it earlier?”
“I could have,” he replied in that infuriating way of his.
I slipped into my new clothes, then looked for socks and shoes. Mr Crepsley shook his head when he saw me searching. “No footwear,” he said. “We go barefoot.”
“Over snow and ice?” I yelped.
“Vampires have harder feet than humans,” he said. “You will barely feel the cold, especially when we are walking.”
“What about stones and thorns?” I grumbled.
“They will toughen your soles up even more,” he grinned, then took off his slippers. “It is the same for all vampires. The way to Vampire Mountain is not just a journey — it is a test. Boots, jackets, ropes: such items are not permitted.”
“Sounds crazy to me,” I sighed, but took the rope, spare clothes and boots out of my bag. When we were ready, Mr Crepsley asked where Madam Octa was. “You’re not bringing her, are you?” I grumbled — I knew who’d have to look after her if she came, and it wouldn’t be Mr Crepsley!
“There is someone I wish to show her to,” he said.
“Someone who eats spiders, I hope,” I sniffed, but fetched her from behind his coffin, where I kept her between shows. She shuffled around while I lifted the cage and placed it in my bag, but settled down once she found herself in the dark again.
Then it was time to go. I’d said goodbye to Evra earlier – he was taking part in that night’s show and had to prepare – and Mr Crepsley had bid farewell to Mr Tall. Nobody else would miss us.
“Ready?” Mr Crepsley asked.
“Ready,” I sighed.
Leaving the safety of the van, we cleared the camp, let the two silent Little People fall into place behind us, and set off on what would prove to be a wild, peril-filled adventure into lands cold and foreign and steeped in blood.
CHAPTER THREE
I WOKE shortly before nightfall, stretched the stiffness out of my bones – what I wouldn’t have given for a bed or hammock! – then left the confines of the cave to study the barren land we were journeying through. I didn’t get much chance to study the countryside while we travelled at night. It was only during quiet moments such as these that I could pause and take everything in.
We hadn’t hit the snowlands yet, but already we’d left most of civilization behind. Humans were few and far between out here where the ground was rocky and forbidding. Even animals were scarce, though some were strong enough to eke out a living — mostly deer, wolves and bears.
We’d been travelling for weeks, maybe a month — I lost track of time after the first handful of nights. Whenever I asked Mr Crepsley how many kilometres were left, he’d smile and say, “We are some way off yet.”
My feet cut up badly when we reached the hard ground. Mr Crepsley applied the sap of herbal plants that he found along the way to my soles, carried me for a few nights while my skin grew back (I healed quicker than a human would), and I’d been OK since.
I said one night that it was a pity the Little People were with us, or he could have carried me on his back and flitted. (Vampires are able to run at an extra-fast speed, a magic kind of running, where they slip through space like eels through a net. They call it ‘flitting’.) He said our slow pace had nothing to do with the Little People. “Flitting is not permitted on the way to Vampire Mountain,” he explained. “The journey is a way of weeding out the weak from the strong. Vampires are ruthless in certain aspects. We do not believe in supporting those who are incapable of supporting themselves.”
“That’s not very nice,” I observed. “What about somebody who’s old or injured?”
Mr Crepsley shrugged. “Either they do not attempt the journey, or they die trying.”
“That’s stupid,” I said. “If I could flit, I would. No one would know.”
The vampire sighed. “You still do not understand our ways,” he said. “There is no nobility in pulling the wool over the eyes of one’s comrades. We are proud beings, Darren, who live by exacting codes. From our point of view it is better to lose one’s life than lose one’s pride.”
Mr Crepsley often spoke about pride and nobility and being true to oneself. Vampires were a stern lot, he said, who lived as close to nature as they could. Their lives were rarely easy, and that was the way they liked it — “Life is a challenge,” he once told me, “and only those who rise to the challenge truly know what it means to live.”
I’d grown accustomed to the Little People, who trailed along behind us at night, silent, aloof, precise. They hunted for their own food during the day, while we slept. By the time we woke, they’d eaten and grabbed a few hours sleep and were ready to go. Their pace never changed. They marched behind us like robots, a few metres to the rear. I thought the one with the limp might struggle, but he’d yet to show signs that he was feeling any strain.
Mr Crepsley and me fed mostly on deer. Their blood was hot, salty and good. We had bottles of human blood to keep us going – vampires need regular doses of human blood to remain healthy, and though they prefer to drink directly from the vein, they can bottle blood and store it – but we drank from them sparingly, saving them in case of an emergency.
Mr Crepsley wouldn’t let me light a fire in the open – it might attract attention – but it was allowed in way-stations. Way-stations were caves or underground caverns where bottles of human blood and coffins were stored. They were resting places, where vampires could hole up for a day or two. There weren’t many of them – it took about a week to make it from one to another – and some had been taken over or destroyed by animals since Mr Crepsley had last come this way.
“How come they allow way-stations but no shoes or ropes?” I asked one day as we warmed our feet by a fire and tucked into roast venison (we ate it raw most of the time).
“The way-stations were introduced after our war with the vampaneze seven hundred years ago,” he said. “We lost many of our clan in the fight with the vampaneze, and humans killed even more of us. Our numbers were dangerously low. The way-stations were set up to make it easier to get to Vampire Mountain. Some vampires object to them and never use them, but most accept them.”
“How many vampires are there?” I asked.
“Between two and three thousand,” he answered. “Maybe a few hundred more or less.”
I whistled. “That’s a lot!”
“Three thousand is nothing,” he snorted. “Think about the billions of humans.”
“It’s more than I expected,” I said.
“Once, we numbered more than a hundred thousand,” Mr Crepsley said. “And this was long ago, when that was a huge amount.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“They were killed,” he sighed. “Humans with stakes; disease; fights — vampires love to fight. In the centuries before the vampaneze broke away and provided us with a real foe, we fought amongst ourselves, many dying in duels. We came close to extinction, but kept our heads above water, just about.”
“How many Vampire Generals are there?” I asked curiously.
“Between three and four hundred.”
“And vampaneze?”
“Maybe two hundred and fifty, or three hundred — I cannot say for sure.”
As I was remembering this old conversation, Mr Crepsley emerged from the cave behind me and watched the sun sinking. It looked the same colour as his cropped orange hair. The vampire was in great form — the nights were growing longer the closer to Vampire Mountain we got, so he was able to move about more than usual.
“It is always nice to see it go down,” Mr Crepsley said, referring to the sun.
“I thought it was going to snow earlier,” I said.
“There will be snow aplenty soon,” he replied. “We should reach the snow drifts this week.” He glanced down at my feet. “Will you be able to survive the harsh cold?”
“I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”
“This has been the easy part,” he smiled, then clapped me on the back when he saw my dismayed frown. “Do not worry — you will be fine. But let me know if your feet cut up again. There are rare bushes which grow along the trail, the sap of which can seal the pores of one’s skin.”
The Little People came out of the cave, hoods covering their faces. The one without a limp was carrying a dead fox.
“Ready?” Mr Crepsley asked me.
I nodded and swung my rucksack on to my back. Looking ahead over the rocky terrain, I asked the usual question: “Is it much further?”
Mr Crepsley smiled, began walking, and said over his shoulder, “We are some way off yet.”
Muttering darkly, I glanced back at the relatively comfortable cave, then faced front and followed the vampire. The Little People fell in behind, and after a while I heard brittle snapping sounds as they chewed on the bones of the fox.
Four nights later we ran into heavy snow. For a few nights we travelled over country that was one long unbroken blanket of freezing white, where nothing lived, but after that trees, plants and animals appeared again.
My feet felt like two blocks of ice as we trudged through the belt of snow, but I gritted my teeth and walked off the effects of the cold. The worst bit was getting up at dusk, having slept with my feet tucked beneath me all day. There was always an hour or two after waking when my toes tingled and I thought they’d drop off. Then the blood would circulate and everything would be fine — until the next night.
