Читать книгу Palace of the Damned - Darren Shan - Страница 11

Larten was a night creature, but he made adjustments to his routines to account for Alicia and, to a lesser extent, Gavner. Although he avoided mornings and the searing light of the midday world, he normally rose in the early afternoon to spend some of the day with Alicia and the boy. He would listen to Gavner reading – something he’d never learnt to do himself – and gruffly tell the child that he was doing a good job if he made no obvious mistakes. The three of them would go out for walks or to the shops, Larten shielded from the sun by an umbrella, hat and gloves, wearing dark glasses to protect his eyes.

Alicia thought he was exaggerating about his condition until one day he sat by a window for half an hour with his arms and face exposed. When she saw the way his skin reddened, she realised he was telling the truth. From that day on she was even more conscious of the sun than he was.

As they strolled through a park one cloudy evening, Gavner running ahead of them trying to catch a bird, Alicia squeezed Larten’s arm and pecked his scarred cheek beneath the covering of the umbrella.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.” She squeezed his arm again. “This is a good life, isn’t it, Vur?”

“Aye,” he said, feeling the little stab of guilt he always did when she called him by his false name. He knew he should tell her the truth about himself, but he hoped that if he denied the reality of Larten Crepsley long enough, the man he’d once been might cease to exist entirely.

“Gavner is happy too,” she murmured. Larten stiffened, as she’d guessed he would, and she tutted loudly. “You have to stop that,” she snapped.

“Stop what?” Larten frowned.

“Gavner is our child,” she said. It was an old argument, one she had with him a couple of times a month. “You should start treating him like your son. He needs a father and you’re all he has. Unless you’d rather I look for another man to take me on walks through the park…” She grinned cheekily at him.

“You might be better off with another man,” Larten said gloomily and Alicia pinched him.

“You’ll say that once too often one day,” she growled.

Larten forced a smile, but he was troubled. Alicia was right. Gavner did need a father. He had grown into a bright, healthy, good-natured boy, blooming under the care of his foster mother. But he often stared at Larten longingly. He didn’t know why the tall man with the scar brushed him aside whenever he tried to get close. He thought there must be something wrong with him, that he had in some way offended the adult. Although he was happy and lively around Alicia, Gavner pulled back into himself when he was with other children. He thought they might reject him if he tried to be friendly with them, as his guardian had.

He deserves better, Larten thought sadly. He deserves a father. But I can never be that for him. I killed his true parents. I must never let him love me. Never.

He should leave. He was a thorn in Gavner’s side, a shadow hanging over the boy. If he left, Alicia would find another man to marry her, as Larten had so far failed to do, despite her many hints that she would accept his proposal if he asked. That man could be a real father to Gavner and the boy would profit from their relationship.

But that would mean abandoning Alicia. The small woman with the red hair and green eyes had brought happiness into Larten’s life, a type he’d never suspected he might be capable of experiencing. He couldn’t walk away from that. With her, he could nearly forget about Malora, the killings, the dark abyss into which he had almost literally fallen. If he cut her out of his life, he feared what might happen to him next.

“Vur?” Alicia asked quietly, breaking into his gloomy reverie.

For a moment he thought she was calling to the real Vur Horston and he looked around eagerly for a thin, poorly boy he hadn’t seen in close to a hundred years. But when he only found the chubby Gavner Purl – still chasing the bird – he realised she was speaking to him. “Yes?” he replied.

“A centime for your thoughts,” Alicia said.

Larten smiled thinly. “They are not worth that much.”

Then he held her close and strolled after the running, laughing boy, afraid that he’d lose her – and himself – forever if he let her go.

A few nights after their walk in the park, Alicia dragged Larten along to an art exhibition. Among the works on display were some new paintings by a young Spanish artist called Pablo Picasso. Larten liked most of the art, but he wasn’t too keen on the crowd.

Larten was uncomfortable in large gatherings. When it was just him and Alicia, he could forget that he was different. In other company he became self-conscious. He kept expecting someone to recognise him for what he truly was and scream, “Vampire!” The book by that dratted Bram Stoker had come out some years before and everyone knew the word now. There was no point claiming innocence and saying he wasn’t like the fictional Dracula. Larten knew how mobs worked. If his true identity was ever revealed, he would have no choice but to flee.

Larten had been uneasy since they arrived at the exhibition. As they wandered, stopping to chat with friends of Alicia, that feeling intensified. He felt certain that he was being watched. Some people might have dismissed such a hunch, but Larten knew better than to doubt his instincts.

The vampire smiled freely and pretended to listen to the conversation flowing around him. He didn’t want to let the person watching him know that he was aware of their scrutiny. But all the time he was slyly sweeping the rooms with his gaze, searching for the one who had pinpointed him.

Finally he singled out his potential enemy. It was a tall, fat man. He was twice the size of anybody else and Larten was surprised not to have noticed him before. The man’s face was virtually hidden behind layers of blubber. He had long, curled hair and a majestic, drooping, waxed moustache. He was finely dressed, his fingers – Larten noted without surprise that each one had a small scar at the tip – glittered with rings, and he sported a diamond-studded monocle. But there was something vulgar about him, and it wasn’t just the four scantily clad women who encircled him and tittered at his every joke.

The fat man saw that he had been spotted. With a sharp word and a curt snap of a hand he dismissed the women. They drifted away to talk with some of the other men – they had plenty of admirers – though Larten was sure they’d return once their master clicked his scar-tipped fingers. They were the type of women he had seen much of in his younger days as a vampire Cub.

The fat man inclined his head and stepped out on to a balcony, inviting Larten to follow. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmured to Alicia. “I wish to take some air.”

“Don’t be long,” she said.

“Of course not,” he promised, but he wasn’t sure if he could keep this particular vow. He didn’t know what the fat man wanted, but he was sure of one thing — the stranger was a vampire. And that spelt bad news whatever way he looked at it.

The obese vampire was snorting a pinch of snuff when Larten joined him on the balcony. He offered some, but Larten shook his head.

“You never did like snuff, did you?” the man purred, putting it away.

“You know me, sir?” Larten frowned, studying the stranger again, trying to place him. There was something familiar about the voice, but not the man’s face. Had they met in Vampire Mountain?

“I know you well, Vur Horston,” the man smirked. “I also knew you when you went by your real name. And I knew you by another name too.” His eyes twinkled and Larten realised that whoever this was, the man meant him no harm.

“What name might that have been?” Larten asked, relaxing slightly.

“It was one I gave you myself,” the vampire said, then smiled nervously as he removed his monocle and brushed his hair back, revealing his face in full. “I called you Quicksilver.”

The mention of his old nickname astonished Larten, but as the man formed the word, something about the movement of his lips triggered a memory that was even more astonishing. Leaning close, eyes widening with shock, Larten seized the man’s shoulders and croaked with disbelief, “Tanish Eul?”