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Sleeping outside was dreadfully uncomfortable. The two of us would lie down together in our clothes – which we hadn’t changed out of since reaching the snow – and pull rough blankets we’d made from deer skins over our bodies. But even with our shared warmth it was freezing. Madam Octa had it easy — she slept safe and snug in her cage, only waking to feed every few days. I often wished I could change places with her.
If the Little People felt the cold, they gave no indication. They didn’t bother with blankets, just lay down beneath a bush or against a rock when they wanted to sleep.
Almost three weeks after we’d last stopped at a way-station, we came to another. I couldn’t wait to sit beside a fire and eat cooked meat again. I was even looking forward to sleeping in a coffin — anything was better than hard, cold earth! This way-station was a cave set low in a cliff, above a forest ring and a large stream. Mr Crepsley and me aimed directly for it – a strong moon in the clear night sky lit the way – while the Little People went off to hunt. The climb only took ten minutes. I pushed ahead of Mr Crepsley as we approached the mouth of the cave, eager to get the fire started, only for him to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Hold,” he said softly.
“What?” I snapped. I was irritable after three weeks of sleeping rough.
“I smell blood,” he said.
Pausing, I sniffed the air, and after a few seconds I got the whiff too, strong and sickly.
“Stay close behind me,” Mr Crepsley whispered. “Be prepared to run the instant I give the order.” I nodded obediently, then trailed after him as he crept to the opening and slid inside.
The cave was dark, especially after the brightness of the moonlit night, and we entered slowly, giving our eyes time to adjust. It was a deep cave, turning off to the left and going back twenty or more metres. Three coffins had been placed on stands in the middle, but one was lying on the floor, its lid hanging off, and another had been smashed to pieces against the wall to our right.
The wall and floor around the shattered coffin were dark with blood. It wasn’t fresh, but by its smell it wasn’t more than a couple of nights old. Having checked the rest of the cave – to ensure we were alone – Mr Crepsley edged over to the blood and crouched to examine it, dipping a finger into the dried pool, then tasting it.
“Well?” I hissed, as he stood, rubbing his finger and thumb together.
“It is the blood of a vampire,” he said quietly.
My insides tightened — I’d been hoping it was the blood of a wild animal. “What do you think–” I started to ask, when there was a sudden rushing sound behind me. A strong arm wrapped around my middle, a thick hand clutched my throat, and – as Mr Crepsley shot forward to help – my attacker grunted triumphantly: “Hah!”
CHAPTER FOUR
AS I stiffened helplessly, my life in the hands of whoever had hold of me, Mr Crepsley leapt, the fingers of his right hand outstretched like a blade. He sliced the hand over the top of my head. My assailant released me and ducked in the same movement, dropping heavily to the floor as Mr Crepsley sailed by. As the vampire rolled to his feet and spun to strike a second blow, the man who’d snatched me roared, “Stop, Larten! It’s me — Gavner!”
Mr Crepsley paused and I got to my feet, coughing from the fright, but no longer afraid. Turning, I saw a burly man with a scarred, patchy face and dark rims around both his eyes. He was dressed in similar clothes to ours, with a cap pulled down over his ears. I recognized him instantly — Gavner Purl, a Vampire General. I’d met him years ago, shortly before my run-in with Murlough.
“You bloody fool, Gavner!” Mr Crepsley shouted. “I would have killed you if I had connected! Why did you sneak up on us?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Gavner said. “I’ve been shadowing you most of the night, and this seemed like the perfect time to close in. I didn’t expect to almost lose my head in the process,” he grumbled.
“You should have been paying more attention to your surroundings and less to Darren and I,” Mr Crepsley said, pointing towards the blood-stained wall and floor.
“By the blood of the vampaneze!” Gavner hissed.
“Actually, it is the blood of a vampire,” Mr Crepsley corrected him dryly.
“Any idea whose?” Gavner asked, hurrying over to test the blood.
“None,” Mr Crepsley said.
Gavner prowled around the confines of the cave, studying the blood and broken coffin, searching for further clues. Finding none, he returned to where we were standing and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “He was probably attacked by a wild animal,” he mused aloud. “A bear – maybe more than one – caught him during the day, while he was sleeping.”
“I am not so sure of that,” Mr Crepsley disagreed. “A bear would have caused great damage to the cave and its contents, but only the coffins have been disturbed.”
Gavner ran his eyes over the cave again, noting the tidy state of the rest of it, and nodded. “What do you think happened?” he asked.
“A fight,” Mr Crepsley suggested. “Between two vampires, or between the dead vampire and somebody else.”
“Who’d be out here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.
Mr Crepsley and Gavner exchanged a troubled look. “Vampire hunters, perhaps,” Gavner muttered.
My breath caught in my throat — I’d grown so used to the vampire way of life, I’d all but forgotten that there were people in the world who thought we were monsters and made it their business to hunt us down and kill us.
“Or maybe humans who chanced upon him by accident and panicked,” Mr Crepsley said. “It has been a long time since vampire hunters aggressively trailed us. This may have been a case of mere misfortune.”
“Either way,” Gavner said, “let’s not hang around and wait for it to happen again. I was looking forward to resting, but now I think it’s best we don’t cage ourselves in.”
“Agreed,” Mr Crepsley replied, and after one last sweep of the cave, we retreated, senses alert to the slightest hint of an attack.
We made our base for the night in the middle of a ring of thick trees, and lit a rare fire — all of us felt chilled to the bone after our experience in the cave. While we were discussing the dead vampire and whether we should search the surrounding area for his body, the Little People returned, carrying a young deer they’d captured. They stared suspiciously at Gavner, who stared just as suspiciously back.
“What are they doing with you?” he hissed.
“Mr Tiny insisted I bring them,” Mr Crepsley said, then raised a quieting hand as Gavner swivelled to ask more questions. “Later,” he promised. “Let us eat first and dwell upon the death of our comrade.”
The trees sheltered us from the rising sun, so we sat up long after dawn, discussing the dead vampire. Since there wasn’t anything we could do about him – the vampires decided against a search, on the grounds that it would slow us down – talk eventually turned to other matters. Gavner asked about the Little People again, and Mr Crepsley told him how Mr Tiny had appeared and sent them with us. Then he asked Gavner why he’d been trailing us.
“I knew you’d be presenting Darren to the Princes,” Gavner said, “so I located your mental pattern and traced you through it.” (Vampires are able to bond mentally with each other.) “I had to cut up from a hundred miles south, but I hate travelling alone — it’s boring having no one to chat with.”
As we talked, I noticed a couple of toes were missing from Gavner’s left foot and asked about them. “Frostbite,” he answered cheerfully, wriggling the three remaining toes. “I broke my leg coming here a couple of Councils back. Had to crawl for five nights to reach a way-station. It was only by the luck of the vampires that I didn’t lose more than a few toes.”
The vampires talked a lot about the past, old friends and previous Councils. I thought they’d mention Murlough – Gavner had alerted Mr Crepsley to the mad vampaneze’s whereabouts – but they didn’t, not even in passing.
“How have you been?” Gavner asked me.
“Fine,” I said.
“Life with this sour buzzard hasn’t got you down?”
“I’ve coped so far,” I smiled.
“Any intentions of topping up?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
He raised his fingers so I could see the ten scars on the tips, the usual sign of a vampire. “Do you plan to become a full-vampire?”
“No,” I said quickly, then looked sideways at Mr Crepsley. “I don’t have any such plans, do I?” I asked suspiciously.
“No,” Mr Crepsley smiled. “Not until you have come of human age. If we made a full-vampire of you now, it would be sixty or seventy years before you were fully grown.”
“I bet it’s horrible ageing so slowly when you’re a kid,” Gavner noted.
“It is,” I sighed.
“Things will improve with time,” Mr Crepsley said.
“Sure,” I said sarcastically, “when I’m all grown up — thirty years from now!” I rose and shook my head, disgusted. I often got downhearted when my thoughts turned to the decades I’d have to spend on the road to maturity.
“Where are you going?” Mr Crepsley asked as I headed towards the trees.
“To the stream,” I said, “to fill our canteens.”
“Maybe one of us should go with you,” Gavner said.
“Darren is not a child,” Mr Crepsley answered before I could. “He will be fine.”
I hid a grin – I enjoyed the rare occasions when the vampire passed a compliment about me – and continued down to the stream. The chilly water was fast-flowing and gurgled loudly as I filled the canteens, splashing around the rims and my fingers. If I’d been human I might have got frostbite, but vampires are a lot sturdier.
As I was corking the second canteen, a tiny cloud of steamy breath drifted across from the other side of the stream. I glanced up, surprised that a wild animal had ventured this close, and found myself staring into the flaming eyes of a fierce, hungry-looking, sharp-fanged wolf.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WOLF studied me silently, its nose crinkling over its jagged canines as it sniffed my scent. I gently laid my canteen aside, not sure what to do. If I called for help, the wolf might panic and flee — then again, it might attack. If I stayed as I was, it might lose interest and slink away — or it might take it as a sign of weakness and move in for the kill.
I was desperately trying to decide when the wolf tensed its hind legs, lowered its head and pounced, crossing the stream with one mighty bound. It crashed into my chest, knocking me to the ground. I tried scrambling away but the wolf had perched on top of me and was too heavy to throw off. My hands searched frantically for a rock or stick, something to beat the animal with, but there was nothing to grab except snow.
The wolf was a terrifying sight up close, with its dark grey face and slanting yellow eyes, its black muzzle and bared white teeth, some five or six centimetres long. Its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth and it was panting slowly. Its breath stank of blood and raw animal flesh.
I knew nothing about wolves – except vampires couldn’t drink from them – so I didn’t know how to react: attack its face or go for its body? Lie still and hope it went away, or shout and maybe scare it off? While my brain was spinning, the wolf lowered its head, extended its long wet tongue, and … licked me!
I was so stunned, I just lay there, staring up at the jaws of the fearsome animal. The wolf licked me again, then got off, faced the stream, went down on its paws and lapped at the water. I lay where I was a few moments more, then pulled myself up and sat watching it drink, noting that it was a male.
When the wolf had drunk his fill, he stood, lifted his head and howled. From the trees on the opposite side of the stream, three more wolves emerged and crept down to the bank, where they drank. Two were females and one was a young cub, darker and smaller than the others.
The male watched the others drinking, then sat beside me. He snuggled up to me like a dog and, before I knew what I was doing, I’d reached around and was tickling him behind his ear. The wolf whined pleasantly and cocked his head so I could scratch behind the other ear.
One of the she-wolves finished drinking and jumped the stream. She sniffed my feet, then sat on the other side of me and offered her head to be scratched. The male growled at her jealously but she took no notice.
The other two weren’t long joining the couple on my side of the stream. The female was shyer than her mates and hovered several metres away. The cub had no such fears and crawled over my legs and belly, sniffing like a hound-dog. He cocked a leg to mark my left thigh, but before he could, the male wolf snapped at him and sent him tumbling. He barked angrily, then slunk back and climbed over me again. This time he didn’t try to mark his territory — thankfully!
I sat there for ages, playing with the cub and tickling the bigger pair of wolves. The male rolled over on to his back, so that I could rub his belly. His hair was lighter underneath, except for a long streak of black hair which ran part-way up his middle. ‘Streak’ seemed like a good name for a wolf, so that’s what I called him.
I wanted to see if they knew any tricks, so I found a stick and threw it. “Fetch, Streak, fetch!” I shouted, but he didn’t budge. I tried getting him to sit to attention. “Sit, Streak!” I ordered. He stared at me. “Sit — like this.” I squatted on my haunches. Streak moved back a little, as though he thought I might be mad. The cub was delighted and jumped on me. I laughed and stopped trying to teach them tricks.
After that I headed back to camp to tell the vampires about my new friends. The wolves followed, though only Streak walked by my side — the others trailed behind.
Mr Crepsley and Gavner were asleep when I got back, tucked beneath thick deer blankets. Gavner was snoring loudly. With only their heads showing, they looked like the ugliest pair of babies in the world! I wished I had a camera capable of photographing vampires, so that I could snap them.
I was about to join them beneath the blankets when I had an idea. The wolves had stopped at the trees. I coaxed them in. Streak came first and examined the copse, making sure it was safe. When he was satisfied, he growled lightly and the other wolves entered, keeping away from the sleeping vampires.
I lay down on the far side of the fire and held a blanket up, inviting the wolves to lie down with me. They wouldn’t go beneath the blanket – the cub tried, but its mother jerked it back by the scruff of its neck – but once I lay down and covered myself with it, they crept up and lay on top, even the shy she-wolf. They were heavy, and the scent of their hairy bodies was overbearing, but the warmth of the wolves was heavenly, and despite the fact that I was resting so close to the cave where a vampire had been killed recently, I slept in complete comfort.
I was awakened by angry growls. Jolting upright, I found the three adult wolves spread in a semicircle in front of my bed, the male in the middle. The cub was cowering behind me. Ahead stood the Little People. Their grey hands were flexing by their sides and they were moving in on the wolves.
“Stop!” I roared, leaping to my feet. On the other side of the fire – which had died out while I was sleeping – Mr Crepsley and Gavner snapped awake and rolled out from under their blankets. I jumped in front of Streak and snarled at the Little People. They stared at me from beneath their blue hoods. I glimpsed the large green eyes of the one closest me.
“What’s happening?” Gavner shouted, blinking rapidly.
The nearest Little Person ignored Gavner, pointed at the wolves, then at his belly, and rubbed it. That was the sign that he was hungry. I shook my head. “Not the wolves,” I told him. “They’re my friends.” He made the rubbing motion again. “No!” I shouted.
The Little Person began to advance, but the one behind him – Lefty – reached out and touched his arm. The Little Person locked gazes with Lefty, stood still a moment, then shuffled away to where he’d left the rats they’d caught while hunting. Lefty lingered a moment, his hidden green eyes on mine, before joining his brother (I always thought of them as brothers).
“I see you have met some of our cousins,” Mr Crepsley said, stepping slowly over the remains of the fire, holding his hands palms-up so the wolves wouldn’t be alarmed. They growled at him, but once they caught his scent they relaxed and sat, though they kept a wary eye on the munching Little People.
“Cousins?” I asked.
“Wolves and vampires are related,” he explained. “Legends claim that once we were the same, just as man and ape were originally one. Some of us learned to walk on two legs and became vampires — the others remained wolves.”
“Is that true?” I asked.
Mr Crepsley shrugged. “Where legends are concerned, who knows?” He crouched in front of Streak and studied him silently. Streak sat up straight and ruffled his head to make his ears and mane erect. “A fine specimen,” Mr Crepsley said, stroking the wolf’s long snout. “A born leader.”
“I call him Streak, because he’s got a streak of black hair on his belly,” I said.
“Wolves have no need of names,” the vampire informed me. “They are not dogs.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Gavner said, stepping up beside his friend. “Let him give them names if he wants. It can’t do any harm.”
“I suppose not,” Mr Crepsley agreed. He held out a hand to the she-wolves and they stepped forward to lick his palm, including the shy one. “I always had a way with wolves,” he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.
“How come they’re so friendly?” I asked. “I thought wolves shied away from people.”
“From humans,” Mr Crepsley said. “Vampires are different. Our scent is similar to their own. They recognize us as kindred spirits. Not all wolves are amiable – these must have had dealings with our kind before – but none would ever attack a vampire, not unless they were starving.”
“Did you see any more of them?” Gavner asked. I shook my head. “Then they’re probably journeying towards Vampire Mountain to join up with other packs.”
“Why would they be going to Vampire Mountain?” I asked.
“Wolves come whenever there’s a Council,” he explained. “They know from experience that there will be plenty of scraps for them to feed on. The guardians of Vampire Mountain spend years stocking up for Councils. There’s always food left over, which they dump outside for the creatures of the wild to dispose of.”
“It’s a long way to go for a few scraps,” I commented.
“They go for more than food,” Mr Crepsley said. “They gather for company, to salute old friends, find new mates and share memories.”
“Wolves can communicate?” I asked.
“They are able to transmit simple thoughts to one another. They do not actually talk – wolves have no words – but can share pictures and pass on maps of where they have been, letting others know where hunting is plentiful or scarce.”
“Talking of which, we’d better make ourselves scarce,” Gavner said. “The sun’s sinking and it’s time we got a move on. You chose a long, roundabout route to come by, Larten, and if we don’t pick up the pace, we’ll arrive late for Council.”
“There are other paths?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “There are dozens of ways. That’s why – except for the remains of the dead one – we haven’t run into other vampires — each comes by a different route.”
