Читать книгу The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4 - Darren Shan - Страница 18

The Wildcat sensed danger, looked around suspiciously and hissed. When there was no response, it lowered its head and tore into the remains of the rat on which it had been feasting. The Wildcat was a loner. Unlike ordinary cats, its kind had nothing to do with humans, preferring the open hunt of the countryside to the wretched scavenge of a town or village.

As the animal feasted, a shadowy figure moved up behind it. The predator slid along quietly, creeping ever closer.

The Wildcat’s sense of danger kicked in again and it whirled. But it had reacted too late. The figure leapt and tackled the cat, grabbing it by the neck and twisting its head. As the doomed creature yelped and thrashed, its attacker pinned its neck with a knee, then jammed two hands into the beast’s mouth. The Wildcat tried to chew the fingers, but it was in a hopeless situation. It resisted for a few seconds, then its jaw and snout were torn apart and it was all over.

Larten Crepsley knelt beside his kill and wiped his hands clean on the grass. He regarded the Wildcat with grim satisfaction. Vampires could not drink the blood of cats, but once fully bled and cooked, the carcass would provide a fine meal. Larten might struggle with the tough meat, but Seba’s sharp teeth would easily tear through it.

Knocking the rat away, Larten hoisted the Wildcat on to his shoulder. It was heavy, but he walked without a stagger, whistling as he made his way back to the ruined castle where his master was sleeping.

It had been nearly five years since Larten first spotted Seba on the wall of the crypt. Larten had grown by several inches, and although he hadn’t thickened out much, he was muscular beneath his dull brown shirt. Most youths his age would have struggled with the cat, but Larten had carried heavier in his time, always without complaint.

It was a cloudy but mild evening. It would be dusk soon and Seba would rise an hour or so later. The elderly vampire enjoyed a lie-in. He often remarked to Larten that when you’d lived for five hundred years, there was little in the world that seemed worth getting up early for.

They had made base in the ruins of an old castle three nights ago. Seba had not said why they were stopping here, many miles from the nearest village, and Larten hadn’t asked. He’d learnt never to casually question the ways of his master. Seba had no time for lazy enquiries. He expected Larten to observe and learn, and query him only when an answer was worth seeking. Needless questions more often than not earned Larten a cuff around the ears.

Larten smiled as he scrambled over the rocky remains of one of the castle walls. Seba’s occasional blows were nowhere near as rough or unjust as Traz’s had been. The vampire could have knocked Larten’s head off with a single punch, so he was always wary of doing damage. He had never truly hurt the boy, merely stung him. Even Larten’s mother had hit harder than Seba Nile.

Seba was resting in what was once the main fireplace. The chimney had fallen in many years ago and created a sheltered niche. Larten had made his bed nearby, in the open, so if anyone came he could prevent them from stumbling across the sleeping vampire.

Larten hung the corpse of the Wildcat from a hook in a wall. He slit its throat and left it to bleed, then used bits of flint to start a fire. They often ate their meat raw, but a cat needed to be cooked or its blood would poison Seba.

Larten had relished the last five years, even the cold, wet nights when he’d had to bite into the horrible flesh of a live rat. He’d never once regretted his decision to become Seba’s assistant. This was a hard life, but it was all he craved. He was still human, and many of the vampire ways were a mystery to him, but there was no question in his mind that this was his fate.

Though Seba was a thoughtful master, Larten’s education was by no means easy. Vampire assistants had a much harder time than their masters. Though Seba made allowances for his human aide, he was a superior creature of the night. He was stronger, faster and more enduring than any human, and his assistant had to keep pace. If Seba marched all night, Larten wasn’t allowed to fall behind. If Seba wrestled a bear, Larten had to pitch in and help.

Many assistants perished horribly before they could be blooded. That was the vampire way — they only accepted the most resilient. If you failed, the clan was better off without you. Larten knew he could expect no sympathy if he came up short of his master’s expectations. Nor would he ask for any.

As the sun dropped, Larten slit the Wildcat down the middle, then speared it on two spits and hung the meat over the fire. The smell was delicious, but he tried not to take pleasure from the scent. If Seba caught the young man’s mouth watering, he’d probably toss the carcass aside and insist they hunt for raw meat.

As Larten tended the roasting cat, he hummed a song that Seba had taught him. It was an ancient melody, not of the vampires, but from the human world of three hundred years ago. Larten would have liked to learn a few vampire tunes, but Seba said they were best kept for the Halls of Vampire Mountain.

Larten grew wistful as he thought about the legendary home of the clan. Seba hadn’t told him much about the mountain, but Larten had heard enough to fire his dreams. In his imagination it was a majestic place full of noble vampires. Great deeds were recounted there, lavish feasts were laid on for the Princes and Generals, and vampires had the opportunity to test themselves against their fellow night-stalkers. There was little in the human world to really challenge a vampire, but in the caverns and tunnels of Vampire Mountain you could truly find out what you were made of.

Larten stopped humming and kept his gaze on the roasting cat. He appeared to be listening to the crackle of the flames, but he was actually concentrating on very soft steps behind him.

“Will you be dining with us tonight, sir?” he called without looking up from the fire or turning around.

Someone clapped. “Very good,” the stranger said, stepping forward out of the shadows. “You have a sharp ear.”

“For a human,” Larten murmured and turned to greet the visitor. He’d known by the sounds that their guest was a vampire — he moved the same quiet way Seba did when he was testing Larten’s senses. If a vampire wished to sneak up on a human, they could move so silently that detection was impossible. But this one had wanted to give Larten a chance.

The vampire was about Seba’s height but a little broader. He looked even older than Seba and had long white hair and a tight grey beard. He was missing his right ear. The flesh around the hole was a pale pink colour.

“Your name?” the vampire asked, approaching the fire and warming his hands.

“Larten Crepsley. I serve Seba Nile.”

“Aye,” the vampire said. “I gathered that much. I’m Paris Skyle. Seba has told you about me?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. I don’t like being discussed behind my back.” The vampire winked, then ran a curious eye over the young man’s face. “Have you been with Seba for long?”

“Close to five years,” Larten answered.

“Still a ways from being blooded then?”

“Seba doesn’t say so, but I suspect that I am.”

Paris sniffed the fumes from the cat. “In answer to your first question, yes, I accept your offer of dinner. But in future you should be more careful who you extend an invitation to. Never ask anyone to break bread with you unless you’re sure of their intent.”

“I knew you were a friend,” Larten said. “Seba has been waiting for you. He didn’t tell me, but I guessed.”

“He might have been waiting for an enemy,” Paris growled.

Larten shook his head. “You don’t smile when you’re waiting for an enemy.”

“Certain vampires do,” Paris disagreed, but was prevented from going any further by the appearance of a yawning Seba Nile. Paris yelled a greeting when he saw Seba drift from his sleeping quarters, and the vampires gripped each other’s forearms, grinning widely.

Larten was excited – this was the first vampire he’d met since becoming Seba’s assistant – but he fought to keep his emotions to himself. If he smiled the way the pair of old friends were smiling, he would earn a cuff from Seba. So, maintaining a neutral expression, he stayed by the fire and focused on the roasting Wildcat, acting as if that was his only concern in the world.