Читать книгу The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4 - Darren Shan - Страница 15

The graveyard was larger than Larten had imagined, and while it was no match for the lavish city of the dead to the north, there were a few crypts jutting out of the crop of crosses and tombs.

Larten scrambled across the graves, muttering prayers to every god he’d ever heard of, eyes cast low. He wanted to look every which way at once, to check for ghosts, witches, demons. But he thought that if he saw them, they would see him too. By not looking, he hoped no ghosts would notice him, so he kept his eyes on the ground. It was a foolish notion, but it gave Larten the courage to go on.

He couldn’t get into the first crypt that he tried — the doors were sealed shut. There was a chain on the woven copper gates of the next. He tugged at the gates as hard as he could, and the chain gave a little, but not enough.

Larten thought he heard movement behind him. He stood, head lowered, expecting an attack. When nothing leapt out of the growing darkness, he looked around for another crypt, then hurried towards it.

He almost didn’t try this door. It was on hinges and slightly ajar, but it was carved of stone and he doubted he had the strength to move it. But rain was lashing down, exhaustion had set deep into his bones, and the next crypt was some way off. So, with no real hope, he grabbed the edge of the door and pulled.

The door slid open so smoothly that he slipped and fell. Landing with a splash in a puddle of rain and mud, he tensed and peered into the darkness. Maybe the door had opened so easily because something inside had pushed out at the same time that he’d pulled. But if a ghost was lurking within, Larten couldn’t see it.

“Are you mad?” a voice very much like Vur’s whispered inside his head. “Don’t go in there. It’s a place for the dead.”

But Larten was out of options. If he didn’t find shelter here, he doubted he’d find it anywhere. As terrified as he was by the thought of spending the night in a crypt, he had a better chance in there than out here. So, with one last quick prayer, he got to his feet, wiped his hands dry on his trousers, then ducked and entered the crypt.

At first he thought it was pitch black. But he closed his eyes for a while, and when he opened them again he could see fairly well. There were glass panels in the ceiling. That seemed strange to Larten, but maybe some of the people buried here had been afraid of the dark.

He remained by the door while his eyes adjusted, then studied the crypt. There were brick walls on either side, behind which the coffins were stacked. A strange sort of ornamental fountain in the middle. No sign of any ghosts.

Growing braver, Larten moved away from the door, into the centre of the crypt. It was cool here, but warmer than outside and a lot drier. He rubbed his arms up and down, trying to generate heat. He’d have to take his clothes off later to let them dry, but he was wary of undressing too soon in case a ghost rose from one of the coffins and attacked. He didn’t want to have to flee naked through the graveyard!

Larten chuckled weakly at the image. Then his stomach rumbled and he winced. He’d been hungry for a long time, but had been able to ignore it. Now his hunger kicked in hard. If only the owner had come to the factory after lunch. The children didn’t get much in the middle of the day, but a few scraps of bread and some slops of watery soup would have made a big difference. Trust Traz to pick the worst possible time to get killed.

Larten chuckled again. He knew murder was wrong, and he wished he could go back and change this day, but in all honesty he wasn’t sad that Traz was dead. He and Vur had often prayed for the gods to strike down their bullying foreman. He didn’t think too many people would shed tears on Traz’s account.

As Larten approached the fountain, he saw that it was covered in cobwebs. He scanned the strands for spiders – he’d eaten insects before when food was scarce – but they were either hiding or had moved on. Sighing, he figured he might as well try the webs since there was nothing else available. He doubted they’d fill him up – they might even make him sick – but what choice did he have?

He ran a couple of fingers through one of the webs, breaking the strands. Then he twirled his fingers around several times, adding to the webby covering. When it was thick enough to hide his flesh, he brought his fingers to his mouth, shut his eyes and peeled off the webs with his teeth.

Larten gagged on the foul-tasting webs and almost vomited, but then he gulped and forced down the disgusting, dusty strands. After a brief pause for breath, he scooped up more, working his way down from the top of the fountain. He kept looking for spiders or even a few desiccated flies, but no joy.

Then, out of the solemn, sinister silence of the crypt, as he was sucking more of the spider’s silk from his sticky fingers, someone spoke from a spot high above and behind him.

“Are cobwebs a treat where you come from?”

Larten whirled, eyes locking on the wall above the door, the one place he hadn’t thought to check when he’d entered the crypt. Something was attached to the bricks. It was a red-skinned beast, with a pale face and long dark hair streaked with white. Its claws were dug into the bricks and it was studying Larten with what seemed to be a wicked, bloodthirsty smile.

Larten darted for the door, certain he was too late, that the creature would drop in front of him and block his way, before falling upon him and finishing him off. But to his surprise the beast never moved and a second later Larten was in the doorway, freedom a couple of paces ahead of him.

“I would ask you to stay a while,” the creature murmured, and something in its tone made Larten pause. He cast a quick glance upwards and saw that the thing had lowered its head. Only a handful of inches now separated their faces.

Larten squealed and slammed against the jamb of the doorway. But still he didn’t spill out of the crypt and run away. Because the creature hadn’t sounded threatening when it spoke. It had sounded strangely lonely.

“What are you?” Larten gasped.

“Should not the question be who am I?” the creature asked, then released its grip, dropped to the floor and stood. Larten saw that it was actually a man — or at least it had the body and face of one. The red he’d glimpsed was the material of the man’s clothes, not his skin, which – from what Larten could see – was no different to any other person’s.

“Aren’t you a monster?” Larten frowned, eyeing the man suspiciously.

“I would not describe myself as one,” the man chuckled, “although there are many who would.”

To Larten’s surprise, the man extended a hand. Larten’s heart was pounding, but it would be rude to refuse this gesture of friendship. Sticking out a trembling hand of his own, he accepted the man’s offer of a handshake. The man’s grip was loose, but Larten sensed immense strength in the fingers.

“My name is Seba Nile,” the man said, “and this is my home for the night. You are more than welcome to share it with me if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Larten said weakly, feeling like he was in a dream. “My name’s Larten Crepsley.”

“I bid you welcome, Larten,” Seba said warmly, and without releasing the boy’s hand, he led him back into the shadows of the crypt.