I realized halfway through that it wasn't funny. Ah well. I tried, and that's what's important…right? :D

In other news, happy birthday TVF! I think I might have taken Kurda-related inspiration from somewhere... :) I hope this is…passable…

"Well, why do we need that?" was the first question out of Gavner's mouth, and Kurda pressed a hand to his forehead in silent despair. Darren watched the exchange for a moment with interest, and then turned his attention in the direction Gavner had pointed. The room was filled with various objects that Kurda was determined to convince his companions had to be kept in the Mountain for one reason or another, from a calculator to a spinning wheel. He'd managed to explain the necessity for the majority of them, but even Darren couldn't really see why this one was necessary.

"How else would we be able to keep track of when the Festival of the Undead ought to begin, or how long Council should last?" Kurda asked patiently.

"Well, you just count the days," Gavner commented, shrugging his large shoulders. Gavner always knew the simplest solution, but that didn't seem to satisfy the blonde Prince-to-be. "Council just ends when it ends, Kurda, it's not hard."

"Well, half the time you can't tell where one day ends and one day begins because you're so wrecked," Kurda grumbled. "You might not realize it, but the dates are all very important. Council has always started in November. It's exactly twelve years between each, not just around that sort of time, Gavner – if you were a Prince you'd have to think about these sorts of technicalities."

Gavner, always light-hearted, simply rolled his eyes (others might have wrung Kurda's neck at the patronizing tone, and had done in the past). "So what do you do with the other eleven months then, Smahlt?" he asked, idly flicking the pages of the calendar. "Birthdays and anniversaries?"

Gavner couldn't read, but Darren had noticed instantly the scribbles on almost every day of the year. Kurda smiled. "Well, as a matter of fact," he said, and stopped Gavner from fluttering the pages for a second. "That's exactly what I use it for."

There was a moment of silence, and then a shout of laughter from Gavner, who doubled over, holding his sides.

"That's brilliant," he wheezed, grinning. "That is possibly the most useless thing in the world!"

Kurda frowned, as if this was not been the answer he'd been expecting. "Your birthday's the first day of March," the blonde remarked. "I asked you when you first got here, years and years ago. And I bet I'm the only one that remembers."

This only made Gavner laugh more. "Who could possibly need to know that?" he chuckled. "Have you really got all the birthdays you know on this?"

There was suddenly a light flush on the tops of Kurda's cheekbones. "Well, yes," he answered sheepishly. "I even know Paris Skyle's, look, from back when he could still remember it…"

Gavner shook his head in disbelief, as Darren pinpointed his own, in late June, Vanez's in April, Arra's at the end of December and even Seba's, in May. He might have seen more, had Gavner not interrupted and flicked them back to the current month.

"So what day is it today then, Kurda?" he asked, squinting down at all the writing and finding the dates. Darren pointed out the first date without a cross over the number before it was even necessary for Kurda to respond. Who knew the soon-to-be Prince was so OCD about a calendar?

"It's the sixteenth," the cartographer said, and then snatched up the calendar out of Gavner's dirty hands, thumbing away a smudge of dirt at the corner of the page.

"So whose birthday is it today?" Gavner asked, darting behind Kurda's shoulder to look at it again, as if he might be able to read what it said.

"No-one's," Kurda responded petulantly, still looking a little put-out, as if he was still sulking over being laughed at about his timekeeping habits.

"So whose is it tomorrow, then?" Gavner asked, tone a little softer. Darren had always felt the two of them made an odd sort of pair, the way one always seemed to be placating the other.

Kurda opened his mouth to answer in his usual prompt and factual manner, and then stopped and smiled broadly. "Seventeenth of November," he commented, and then ran his finger under the words. "Larten Crepsley's birthday," he read out loud, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

The three vampires shared a grin. This was just too good to pass up.

It had taken all of Darren's self-control not to tell Mr Crepsley as soon as he next saw him about their plans for his birthday celebrations. He'd waited somewhat impatiently until the grumpy vampire had shuffled off to bed early that morning to tell Harkat everything he'd discovered.

The Little Person had been disillusioned. "So…" he'd said. "You're going to…buy him a present?"

Darren had wondered how Harkat could possibly be missing the golden opportunities for humiliation this had presented them with. "No, Harkat," he said, staring back at the little grey man. "Well, not unless it's fake tan, and I don't know where we'd get that on such short notice. We're going to throw him a party!"

Harkat shrugged (somehow, it was difficult with no discernable neck) and blinked his large fluorescent eyes. "That sounds…nice," he croaked. "Should I make…him a card?"

How Darren refrained from slapping his forehead he didn't know. "We're not trying to be nice, Harkat," he reminded. "We're trying to make him as embarrassed as we possibly can. There's going to be pink streamers. There's going to be huge signs all over the place and napkins with Disney princesses on them."

"I don't think he'll…appreciate that, Darren…"

The mischievous half-vampire just rolled his eyes and grabbed one of Harkat's stitched up little hands, dragging him out into the corridor. "I know he won't, Harkat," Darren said tiredly. "That's the point. Now, we only have until he wakes up to decorate the whole mountain. And make him a cake. A cake with as much pink icing as possible. And a smiley face."

"Do you know…how old he is?"

That was a spanner in the works. Darren stopped and frowned. "Gavner told me once he was between a hundred and eighty and two hundred," he considered. "But even he didn't know exactly. Kurda didn't, and he's OCD, so I don't know whether anybody will."

"What about…Seba? He seems to…know all sorts of things. And he was…his mentor, so maybe…he'll remember?"

"I doubt it," Darren mumbled, remembering the way Seba had struggled to remember even his own age to a figure any closer than "about eight-hundred", and the way it seemed the Quartermaster was often forgetting things. His utter conviction that he'd replaced all the candles in the Hall of Kheldon Lurt when in fact everyone was stumbling around in the dark for several nights didn't exactly fill the half-vampire with confidence about his memory (or, in fact, his sanity).

"Well, then what about…Arra?" Harkat suggested. "They seem to know…a lot about each other. Maybe she…would know?"

Darren pulled a face at the idea of having to ask the vampiress such a direct question. Though she'd been kinder to him recently, she wasn't exactly his favourite vampire of all. If he was going to be completely honest, he was still just a little bit scared of her. Of course, by a little he meant completely. And by scared he meant absolutely unbelievably terrified.

Fortunately, Harkat didn't share the same fear. Well, that was understandable – Arra hadn't tried to beat Harkat to a bloody pulp thirty feet above the ground. The Little Person had set off at speed in the direction of the Sports Hall, and so Darren cringed and followed him. It was very late, by vampire terms, but luck was on their side this time, and they found Arra bandaging one of her wrists.

"No," she said instantly, once Darren had said the words "birthday" and "Mr Crepsley" and "help" in quick succession. Harkat rolled his eyes (well, attempted it – it was difficult with the absence of a pupil), and took over from his young and foolish friend.

"Arra…it's Mr Crepsley's birthday. It would …be helpful if we knew how…old he was, so that…we know what number…to write in icing on the cake…and on all the…banners."

To his disappointment (and alarm) Harkat noticed that his approach hadn't worked any better than Darren's. Arra Sails didn't look like she was getting ready to kill anyone, but she was surprisingly still and it creeped him out a bit. Just as he was getting ready to sprint on his tiny grey legs as far as he could away from the impending disaster, the vampiress thankfully began to laugh.

"He's going to find the both of you," she commented serenely, concentrating again on her apparently sore wrist. "And capture you, and put you to the stakes in the Hall of Death. Afterwards, he'll cut you up into little tiny pieces, and then he'll probably burn you."

Following this disturbing forecast, she smiled and rose, giving Darren a pat on the head from which he flinched and whimpered. "He's a hundred and ninety eight," she said. "And, for the record? It was nice knowing you, kids."

"It's been Hell, Kurda," Darren admitted. "Seba threw a spider at us for asking where we might get the ingredients for a cake, and he kept shouting something about humans and sugar being useless. Vanez laughed, but then I think he locked the storerooms so we couldn't get any of the supplies we needed. And I think Arra might have either predicted our death, or threatened to kill us, and I'm not sure which."

Kurda looked unaffected by this information; although Darren was looking vaguely traumatized and Harkat had actually gone for a lie down to rest his shattered nerves. "Well, that's why I'm such a genius," he said flippantly, gesturing to the floor behind them, on which lay several sheets of bright pink fabric each decorated with the words Happy Birthday Larten! in gold glittery paint. "There's a cake baking, too," he said, ignoring the way Darren's jaw seemed to have unhinged. "Gavner's looking after it. You know he loves to cook? Well, neither did I, but apparently –"

Darren had wandered over to the old wooden tables and benches, all covered in soft pink silk with the occasional centrepiece (from a candle to what seemed to be an antler), and was gazing at them in wonder.

"But how did you do it?" the half-vampire asked, obviously amazed.

"Oh, that," Kurda laughed merrily. "Well, I forgot to mention it earlier, but I have a key for everything, so really the storerooms and Seba weren't a problem after all. Sorry about that, Darren. You look like you had a fine day though…?"

The teenager stared back at him, eyes narrowed with what could only be described as pure hatred. Kurda chose to skip off towards the kitchens rather than wait to be attacked viciously by the half-vampire.

Gavner was just removing the newly baked cake from the ancient oven with the utmost care when Kurda came flouncing past, and the heavy general shoved him with one of his muscular arms to stop him doing any harm to the cake while he blathered endlessly about seemingly nothing.

"…Are you even listening to me?"

"We are not having a domestic, Kurda, I'm concentrating on the cake," Gavner answered bluntly, never looking up to see the blonde's face fall.

"You're concentrating on the cake because you don't want to listen to me," Kurda accused crossly. "It's my calendar that inspired all this, not your cake. I'm the one that's sorted all of this out, without me you'd be nowhere!"

Gavner raised one thick eyebrow. "Don't," he said calmly. "Do not bad-mouth my cake, Smahlt."

"It's not even a good cake," Kurda said quietly. "It's burnt at the edges…"

Gavner, rolling up his sleeves, turned to face the younger man (who hadn't stopped pouting). "Say it again," he said in a low growl. "Go on, I dare you. Say it again."

Kurda gulped, and then, in a high-pitched wail: "It's not a good cake!" Following this admission, he took advantage of his long limbs and took off into a sprint in an effort to get as far away from an angry Gavner Purl (who he could hear roaring behind him) as humanly…or vampirically possible. He quickly found himself darting down the corridor towards his cell, and as he looked behind him to check Gavner's whereabouts, slammed straight into what felt like a wall.

When he looked up, it was a wall with red hair and a scar and a lot of red clothing. Larten Crepsley frowned (as always).

"In some sort of trouble, Kurda?" he asked, as the Prince-to-be pulled back and brushed himself off with an effort to look noble and esteemed. Larten Crepsley had always made him feel a bit like a child somehow, whether from his impressive height or just from the way he always seemed to be in despair of everyone else around him.

Perhaps plotting to humiliate the intimidating ginger-haired vampire hadn't been the best idea after all?

As Gavner skidded round the corner and caught sight of the two of them, he slowly slid to a halt. "Larten," he nodded. "You're, um, awake early."

"Not particularly," Larten sniffed. "Seba is already awake, as is Vanez. They both seem to think that Darren had some sort of business in the storerooms yesterday. I for one hope that this is not another manifestation of the child's sugar obsession. You two would not happen to know anything about this, would you?"

"No," Kurda and Gavner chirped simultaneously, identical frozen smiles plastered to their faces. Gavner put an arm around Kurda in a gesture of camaraderie, and none-too-subtly dragged him in the direction of the kitchens again. If Seba was already awake, that meant Seba was heading for the kitchens, and the whole rest of the vampire population was heading for the currently bright pink Hall of Kheldon Lurt. They had an estimated total of about twenty seconds to string up five banners. "Um, we have to go now. Was Seba, um, heading anywhere in particular?"

Larten Crepsley wasn't a stupid man by any means. He raised a ginger eyebrow, unimpressed. "I would imagine he was headed for the Hall of Kheldon Lurt, as it is the morning and he often likes to eat breakfast. As do the rest of us, I think you will find."

With that, the red-haired, a hundred and ninety eight year-old vampire brushed past the terrified pair and in the direction of the newly decorated Hall. Gavner, always the best at thinking quickly (not), waved his hands for a moment and then blurted out the very first thing that he thought would stop the vampire's progress.

"WOW KURDA, LOOK," Gavner shouted at the top of his voice, nearly bursting Kurda's left eardrum. "IS ARRA REALLY RUNNING NAKED IN THE DIRECTION LARTEN ISN'T WALKING IN?"

Larten pivoted, and then stopped, and continued walking; realizing a moment too soon that, not permitting some sort of nervous breakdown or similar, this was hardly likely to be the sort of behaviour Arra was going to exhibit. Kurda, punching Gavner as hard as he could in one of his muscular arms (he wasn't sure if the general actually felt it), took over.

"YOU KNOW, GAVNER," he bellowed in response. "INSTEAD, I ACTUALLY THINK IT WAS DARREN HOLDING A BAG OF…WAS THAT SUGAR?"

Thankfully this time the aforementioned half-vampire's mentor did turn around, now that something that was actually possible had been cited, and he stormed past his useless two friends in an attempt to catch his assistant, fist raised in a threatening gesture.

Not checking whether Gavner had the sense to follow him, Kurda instantly broke into another sprint back towards the Hall, arriving just as Seba appeared, dragging Darren out of the kitchens by his collar.

"You and your sugar, boy!" he was growling. "I suppose this monstrosity of a cake was your idea?"

Gavner, having rounded, the corner a few seconds after Kurda, one again began to flex his muscles. "What," he began. "Did you say. About my cake?"

Deciding that he might allow Seba to be beaten to a pulp for the greater good (he'd never been particularly attached to the mentally unstable Quartermaster – what kind of sane person would have plucked out the hairs from his assistant's ears, after all?), Kurda began to hang the banners around the uneven stone walls, just as the vampires began to pile in for their customary bat broth breakfast.

"You actually did it," Arra was saying, as Kurda hopped down to admire his handiwork. He turned to look at her just as Darren had managed to set the cake down as a centrepiece on the middle table, Seba and Gavner caught in what seemed to be a headlock. "I guess I should have known it was your idea. I'd congratulate you for being so brave, but really, it's just kind of stupid."

"Shut up, Arra," Kurda whined. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact that his disembowelment was imminent. "Larten might be more forgiving than you think. You're the one that never liked me."

The vampiress laughed in pure delight. It really was worrying that she seemed to find other people's misfortune (however self-induced) so amusing. Instead of giving him any verbal response, she just gave him the death's touch sign, and walked off (with a surprising new spring in her step), all the while still cackling.

Someone had already knocked over a whole barrel of ale (it had briefly distracted Seba from his current screaming rage before sending him into another screaming rage that seemed this time to be directed more at the barrel than Gavner), but on the plus side, all the banners and pink tablecloths looked very impressive. Just as Kurda had finished writing the number 198 in large lettering on the top of the (admittedly slightly brown, but lovingly prepared) sponge cake in thick pink icing, a strange sort of hush fell over the entire Hall.

Kurda had no need to turn around to know that Larten Crepsley's blood pressure had probably risen so much that his head either had or was about to explode. Carefully, wielding a tube of icing as a weapon, the blonde General twisted to meet his certain doom.

"In hindsight," Darren said, placing another chair in front of the door. They'd locked it from the inside, but that had never stopped a vampire, and they couldn't be too careful. "I'm not scared to admit that it was a bad idea."

Kurda, sharpening a knife, observed the boy with a quiet but seething hatred. Still, he was probably safer in a store-cupboard with Kurda Smahlt (no matter what sort of vengeful mood he might be in) than outside with his axe-wielding murderer of a father-figure.

"I'm a little bit worried about Gavner, though," Darren continued, frowning at one of the white stone walls. "I feel a bit guilty about leaving him outside."

"Especially after screaming that it had been all his idea, I imagine."

Darren hummed in a tiny supportive vocalization, at least having the decency to look the tiniest bit ashamed. "Well, not that," he said. "Just that I know he doesn't run that fast…"

"Faster than you'd think," Kurda muttered under his breath, remembering the way the burly General had chased him earlier with surprising vigour. "It seems to have calmed down out there, a little."

"Not really," Darren responded. "I can still hear a lot of yelling. I can hear laughing, too, but I'm a bit terrified that that's the sound of them hanging Gavner from the ceiling by his intestines."

However strong a possibility this was, Kurda had started to go a little stir-crazy. It had probably only been about three hours, but the blonde thought he finally understood what had made Crepsley such a miserable (and, evidently, violent and dangerous) man – spending half an hour with Darren was a chore, spending more than two hours with the boy was excruciating. If it was live inside the cupboard with Darren or die outside in the fresh air, Kurda had made the choice. Ignoring Darren's pleas not to open the door, Kurda courageously stepped out into the Hall.

"BEFORE I DIE, I JUST WANT TO SAY IT WAS ALL DARREN'S FAULT, THE BOY'S PURE EVIL AND I'D LIKE TO TAKE THIS –"

Kurda was quickly aware of the fact that nobody was actually listening to him. He'd…courageously (sort of) walked out with his eyes closed, and when he finally opened them there was no-one waiting to kill him. There were no organs hanging from the ceiling as Darren had predicted. Some of the banners had been destroyed, but a couple still hung, and with the tablecloths it was the same story.

In fact, when he finally located Larten Crepsley, he actually appeared to be…laughing? It was very possibly too good to be true. His beautiful decorations may have been looking a little worse for wear, but it seemed no-one else minded this. As the red-haired vampire caught sight of Kurda, the blonde held his breath.

"It was Kurda's idea really," he heard Arra say from somewhere near the notoriously miserable vampire. He vowed silently that if he lived through this he'd kill her personally one day. Someone gave him a sound clap on the back, and Kurda jumped a little too obviously. He turned to see Gavner grinning back at him with a surprisingly small amount of malice in his eyes (considering he and Darren had left the General to the mercy of a bloodthirsty Larten Crepsley, it was somewhat of a miracle that he still had limbs). As he pushed Kurda forward into a seat in front of the Birthday Boy, the Prince-to-be clenched his fists in a mockery of getting ready to fight back, only to find that Mr Crepsley didn't seem to feel like fighting at all.

"The secret to Larten Crepsley," Gavner muttered out of the corner of his mouth, watching his ginger friend bang his fist on the tabletop and cackle. "Everything's funnier after a gallon or two of ale."

Meanwhile Darren, still of the opinion that maybe curiosity really did kill the cat, curled up somewhere near the back of the store cupboard, and thought of different ways it might be possible to escape without his mentor seeing him. As he wondered about the possibility of digging himself a tunnel to the other side of the world with Kurda's set of fine silverware, he happened to glance up again at the calendar.

"Eighteenth of November," Darren read aloud, and couldn't stop his face from splitting into a boyish grin. "Kurda's birthday."

Maybe just one more time…