Darkness bathed the cellar when he awoke in his coffin. It was well into evening but he felt as if he hadn't slept at all. Feeling rather sick, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, reflexively running his nails across the scar that curved down his left cheek. Vampires don't take ill very easily but to his dismay, he found that he was shaking slightly. Cursing inwardly, he picked his way out of his coffin and across the room, reaching for a box of matches and lighting one. The flame burst into life with a hiss and he held it to a candle wick, taking deep slow breaths through his nose. He wasn't ready for this conversation. He had already guessed what Tiny's instructions might be and the thought of it made his stomach churn with nausea. He'd have to kill the boy, right? The spider had been meant to take care of him so that the other boy, what was his name? Leonard? So that he would return for Larten's own life. And then the bargaining would begin and he would have to offer the boy a choice. Possible revenge, or vampirism… He cursed himself once more leaning back against the table he had set the candle on. How was that going to happen when Leonard was in the hospital? But first…
He had expected Tiny to suddenly appear in a magical flash of light or even open some blinding cosmic portal, so he was a little surprised when the little man descended the stairs to the cellar, one step at a time. Larten did not step forward, or make any movement to indicate a greeting.
When Mr. Tiny reached the bottom of the steps and saw Larten, he made a show of checking his pocket watch, sighing loudly and tapping his foot in time to the watches ticking beats. Larten might have sworn he heard the watch thumping, a soft muscle peeking out between Tiny's fingers, but later he was convinced it was just a trick of the light.
Finally, after a sufficient amount of time that he could no longer pretend to ignore him, Larten said; "Desmond."
"I see you stayed put like I told you to, like a good little vampire."
Larten bristled. He hated it when Tiny spoke to him like that, like he was some kind of school boy. Tiny had a soft, high pitched voice, the kind of voice that didn't need raising. He did not reply.
"I'm here to give you the script," Tiny continued. "So you'll know your lines when the Shan boy comes in here."
"Is that all this is to you?" Larten growled. "A play? Am I an actor on a stage?"
"Oh but Larten," Tiny mewled, acting offended. "You are an actor. You were on a stage of your own less than a week ago, playing with your spider. The stage that I am setting is just the same. Get in front of the audience, give them a show, get your applause. What performer wouldn't want that?"
"There is an audience?" He looked up now to meet Tiny's eyes.
"Why yes…" Tiny said, and the room grew dark. A blanket of silence seemed to press upon Larten's ears, making him frown and bare his teeth. The candle flickered, and though it remained lit, it seemed to not to give off any more light. And then he could see them, as if Tiny had dimmed the lights in a movie theatre and he could see the screen clearly for the first time. A woman, beautiful and cruel with pale skin and strands of hair like rope watched him with clear piercing eyes alongside a terrible creature with a rams head, sunken dead eyes and curved vicious looking horns. The rest of it's body was twisted, snake like, with tiny little clinging arms that grabbed constantly at the air. There was a man, naked except for a metal arm and a metal face that clicked and whirred and chugged. There were more behind them, a crowd of hundreds, stretching out beyond the walls of the cellar, backlit by what looked like a blue sun. Larten staggered back, knocking himself against the table and sending the candle toppling to the ground. Gasping, he threw himself down and grabbed it before it hit the ground, the speed of his movement causing the flame to go out. Shaking and moaning, he fumbled for the matches.
"Here," Tiny said kindly, his face inches for Larten's, his lips spread wide in a leer. "Allow me…" He squeezed the wick and blew on it gently and with a soft crack, the candle sputtered back into life, illuminating the empty cellar, his coffin, the table, the stairs, the stony ground. They were once again alone.
Still trembling, he stood.
"So now that you understand," Mr Tiny went on, as if nothing had happened. "You'll do as your told? Play the part like I want you to?"
He nodded wordlessly, struggling to regain his voice.
"Good. Good. So tonight, when the boy comes down here, he'll beg you to help his friend. At that point, I want you to offer a deal. In order for him to save his friend, he must become your assistant - Nay, a vampire! I want you to blood him this very evening."
At this, Larten found his voice. "Gods no!" he yelped, his face growing paler than normal. "He is a child - There are rules, Desmond! Regardless, I know nothing about the boy. He is a brat, he stole from me, he is a coward. I have been watching him, Tiny, and he would rather let his friend die than speak out about his guilt. He would not make a good vampire."
"Then make him a half-vampire. Teach him, mold him, show him the ways of the clan. Come now, you wouldn't stop the first act dead in it's tracks because of a little moral complexity, would you?"
"Moral complexity?" he repeated, running a hand through his hair. "I do not believe this. You cannot ask this of me. What about the boy? Does he have no say? I would be extorting him, pushing him into a harsh life without his consent. That is not right."
"But boy!" Tiny exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Think of the drama, the twists and turns, the excitement! And need I remind you who is watching? Those… 'people', they get bored Larten, very bored. You're arguing morality when I'd happily have you tortured a hundred different ways for the sake of art and entertainment. I can get pretty creative, if I have to. Do you understand?"
"I have no choice," He realised aloud.
"There you've got it. So like I said, when he comes down here, you know what to do. I let you get away with rejecting the Leonard boy because in the end it made for a better story. Perhaps I took it a little far with the bad blood, but now, alone, bitter, out for revenge, he will grow to be quite the antagonist. Two friends, pitted against each other in the war of the century!" He turned away from Larten, spreading his hands out like a conductor or a great orator. "It will be magnificent!"
There was a pause. Larten felt like he was going to be sick.
Tiny tilted his head like a dog and Larten could feel, even though he could only see the back of his head, the wicked sharks grin spread over the little mans face. "Ah… but he's almost here. Darren Shan, enter stage left."
And with that, he was gone. Larten blinked several times before sinking into a chair. Breathing heavily, as if he had been running the whole time, he forced himself to collect his thoughts. Sure enough, he could hear sounds of footfalls in the otherwise abandoned theatre. Leave, he willed the boy. Get out of here while you still can. Nervous, he reached for a deck of cards and began to fidget with them, setting out a game of solitaire as if he had been waiting all night.
Despite his silent pleading, Darren Shan eventually descended the stairs into the cellar, where Larten was waiting for him.
"Good morning Master Shan," he said, without looking up.
XXX
Rain pattered and drummed against the tenement roof and Larten huddled against a chimney, watching the opposite window, which belonged to the bedroom of a boy called Derek Barry. The owners of the chimney must have lit their fire, because it was warm and smoke was whipped away by the wind. Larten wasn't really feeling the cold, but the wet annoyed him, and Debbie seemed to be happy that they had picked his spot, pressing her back against the warm metal. They were staking out the homes of Darren's classmates in the hope of finding vampanese lurking outside, though given that there was not even a hint of vampanese in sight, he was relaxed, stretched out leisurely against the tiles, thinking.
The two of them had been getting used to each others company. While Larten had been keeping a respectful distance, even chiding Vancha for stepping too far over the line, he had allowed himself to enjoy her presence. He was therefore alarmed, though not surprised when she asked him the following question.
"Larten? How do you become a vampire?"
"Why?" He asked back, turning to look at her seriously.
"I guess I just… I mean, what I really wanted to ask was how did you become a vampire?"
Relieved, he turned back to the window, licking his lips and thinking. He was silent for long enough that Debbie opened her mouth, about to tell him to forget she asked, when he finally spoke.
"I was a young man and poor, in London. I actually almost signed up for the Queen's army. It meant wages, food and Britain was still colonising then, so I would travel. But a man stopped me. He asked me if I wanted to be a soldier of a different kind. I guess he saw potential in me that was not in the other possible recruits."
"Was he a vampire?"
"Yes. His name was Seba. I went with him. You see, back then, it was not uncommon to have a large family, and mine was a hairs breadth away from the workhouse. I do not think I need to tell you what that would have been like."
She shook her head, her eyes wide.
"I could stay in London, join the war effort against the vampanese and…" he paused here, swallowing. "And that was that."
"Yes," she said. "I think Darren told me that this wasn't the first war vampires and vampanese have been involved with. But what happened to your family?"
He cleared his throat. "I would rather not speak about it. It is long ago. I do not remember."
She looked like she wanted to press him but the tone in his voice made her think better of it.
He had lied of course, he remembered everything. A sharp pang awoke in his chest and he bowed his head, his jaw set. Just another thing he could not reclaim. He could only blame himself for this one though. He had left of his own will, had chosen a better life. Indeed, it was one of the view times in his life he could hold onto where he had the control, the option of saying no, no, he was sick of being hungry, sick of being cold, sick of being afraid every time one of his siblings came home with a cough, sick of being helpless. Newly empowered, who wouldn't have left a human life if they had the chance? Given the option, who would chose illness, poverty and death?
Still, he could not shake the guilt, even after all these years. He hadn't just left after all, he had fled.
"I am sorry," he said eventually, causing Debbie to rouse from her own thoughts. "I am not used to all these questions."
"That's ok. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"Please," he said, attempting an apologetic smile. "Tell me more about yourself. Darren said that you are an English teacher. I believe that my taste in literature might be a little outdated but… it seems that certain works endure. Is Keats still a name that is heard in classrooms?"
"'Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance,'" she recited, smiling a little and sitting up straighter. "Is that right? It's not something we teach the children really anymore, but I like it personally."
He shared her smile. "What about 'To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour.'"
"Blake?" she asked, grimacing. "I don't know, I found him a little… uh… I don't know. I could never really read him."
"You know, his poetry sounds better when read aloud," he said knowledgeably. "I imagine something is lost when one has to read it from the page. Much like Shakespeare."
"Did you ever go to the Globe?" She was kneeling up now, her eyes alight.
"Ah, yes, of course. But it was already hundreds of years old by the time I was going. It has not much changed."
So the conversation went on, swapping quotes and stories. Larten was relieved to find that she was talking more about herself now, her experiences in the classroom trying to share her love with books, her frustration at students who didn't appreciate her favourites. He smiled at this, remembering his own annoyance when Darren would lose interest when he tried to explain the finer points of vampire history during their stay at Vampire Mountain. The moon moved across the sky and he realised that they had been arguing the finer points of Othello for over half an hour. When he tried to change the subject, he found that they were both laughing over the idiocy of Romeo and Juliet. He didn't mind this of course. Indeed, it made his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.
When the night sky faded from black to soft deep blue, the sun a couple of hours from rising, they climbed down a fire escape onto the streets below and started making their way back to the hotel. Just outside, Debbie stopped him.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"For what, pray tell?" He asked, confused.
"This is all so stressful," she explained. "Looking for the vampanese, terrified if we find them but frustrated that there's no sign of them. Being with you though, I mean… teaming up with you guys. It makes me feel safer doing something than just sitting at home waiting for you guys to take care of it."
"Yes," he said softly. "I know. It is always better to feel like you have some say in your destiny."
He opened the door for her, suddenly heart sick once more.
