Brothers to the Death (The Saga of Larten Crepsley) Page 3

  Larten wasn’t sure how long the Nazis would dog their trail. Mika thought they would hound him for years. Larten doubted they were patient enough to follow him for that long, but so far they’d shown no sign of quitting. They had doubled their numbers, then doubled them again, even following the pair when they crossed the border into lands where Germans were far from welcome. Larten could have revealed the Nazis’ presence to the local authorities, but his task was to lead them on, not have them locked up.

  The only real downside was Gavner’s snoring. It truly was as bad as Larten claimed. Some days he made more noise than one of the polar bears that Larten had wrestled with years earlier during their trek across the plains of Greenland.

  “Perhaps if I cut off your nose…” Larten muttered, only half-joking.

  “You go anywhere near my nose and I’ll slice off your ears,” Gavner retorted.

  “You were not this bad when you were a child.”

  “How do you know? You never checked on me when I was asleep.”

  “Yes, I did,” Larten protested.

  “Don’t lie,” Gavner tutted. “Alicia always tucked me in and looked after me if I stirred in the night. She told me I was a terrible snorer from the start.”

  “Then you admit it!” Larten pounced.

  “Maybe I snore a little,” Gavner grinned.

  The younger vampire moved to the mouth of the crypt and stared at the rows of headstones and crosses. It was almost dusk, but the light still hurt his eyes and he had to shield them with a hand.

  “How come you don’t mind the sun so much?” he asked Larten.

  “Your eyes adjust after fifty or sixty years,” Larten told him.

  Gavner grimaced. “I hate the way you make the decades sound so casual. Fifty years is a long time.”

  “I thought so too, once,” Larten said, although honestly he couldn’t remember when fifty years had seemed like an age. Like most vampires who had been around for more than a century, he had the impression that he’d always been offhand about the passage of time. He had forgotten the impatience of his youth, the way years had dragged. He no longer regarded the future with unease, wondering how he’d fill so many long nights. As a General of good standing, he had more things to worry about than killing time.

  “You must get bored,” Gavner said. “There must be nights when you feel like you’ve been alive forever, and the thought of enduring more drives you insane.”

  Larten cocked an eyebrow at Gavner. “You sound like a Cub. Perhaps you need to spend some time with vampires your own age.”

  “That lot of losers?” Gavner snorted. “No chance!”

  They had run into a pack of Cubs several years earlier. There weren’t as many as there had been in Larten’s youth. Vampires only rarely blooded children now, and new recruits were given more time to adjust to the ways of the clan before being asked to commit themselves. As a result, few felt as restless as Larten once had. Most were not inclined to break away from the clan for a decade or two.

  But some young vampires still gathered in different parts of the globe every so often, to mix with humans and lead a free and easy life before giving themselves over completely to the vampire cause. When Gavner had been introduced to a pack, he reacted with scorn. The high-living, dandyish members reminded him of Tanish Eul and he felt nothing but contempt for them. His response delighted Larten, although he did feel a pang of shame when he considered how low an opinion Gavner would have had of him if they had met back when he went by the name of Quicksilver.

  “Are there any exercises I can do to make my eyes stronger?” Gavner asked.

  “Try focusing on far-off objects,” Larten said. “Fix on something in the distance and hold on it with your eyes almost shut. Slowly widen them. When the pain goes away, take a break, then focus on something else and repeat.”

  “That will help?” Gavner asked dubiously.

  “You will start to notice a difference fairly soon,” Larten said.

  “How soon exactly?”

  “Ten or fifteen years,” Larten said with a straight face.

  Gavner glared, not sure if the older vampire was joking or not. Muttering to himself—much as Larten had moments earlier—he settled against the wall of the crypt near the door and commenced the exercise. Hiding a smile, Larten set about preparing their first meal of the night. He cooked a couple of rabbits that Gavner had caught earlier, using collapsible pans that Evanna had given him.

  “Any rumblings from the Nazis during the day?” Gavner asked after a while.

  “How could I hear anything over the sound of your snoring?” Larten replied.

  “Stuffy old bat,” Gavner grunted. “You should loosen up and pull your head out of your…” He stopped. Larten thought it was because he didn’t want to complete the insult, but seconds later Gavner said, “Someone’s there.”

  “Where?” Larten darted to Gavner’s side.

  Gavner pointed. “On the outskirts of the graveyard. Under that tree. I can’t see anyone now, but there was a man a moment ago.”

  “A Nazi?” Larten asked.

  “I don’t think so. He was small, white hair, dressed in yellow.”

  “With green boots?” Larten said quickly.

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “Aye.” Larten’s face was dark.

  “Is he a vampire?”

  Larten shook his head. “If your eyes were sharper, you would have seen a heart-shaped watch sticking out of his breast pocket.”

  Gavner drew a sharp breath. “Mr. Tiny?”

  “I suspect so.”

  Larten had told Gavner much about the mysterious meddler, the man of ancient years who claimed to be an agent of destiny. For a long time he had said nothing of their meeting in Greenland, when Desmond Tiny pulled him back from the brink of a deadly fall, sparing both their lives for dark, unknowable reasons of his own. But finally, since Gavner kept asking, he told the full story even though it troubled the young vampire.

  “Why is he here?” Gavner asked, searching with his gaze for the strange, short man. “Doesn’t he only turn up when terrible things are about to happen?”

  “He is never far from disaster,” Larten said, “but he sometimes pays visits for other reasons.” He hesitated, then decided this was as good an occasion as any to tell Gavner another of his secrets. “This is not the first time he has trailed us.”

  Gavner looked around, his eyes narrowing, but not from the sunlight.

  “I have caught glimpses of him several times over the decades,” Larten said. “He circles us occasionally, keeping his distance, watching.”

  “Why?” Gavner snapped.

  Larten shrugged.

  “Maybe we should go after him,” Gavner suggested. “Face up to him. Make him explain why he follows us.”

  “There is no point,” Larten sighed. “He never comes close enough to catch. The nearest he came to me was when I visited my old home last year.”

  Larten had been back to the city of his birth a few times with Gavner. He liked to keep an eye on the place. Relatives of his still lived there, and although he had not tracked down any of them, he felt connected. Whenever he was within easy traveling distance, he made time to swing by and make sure that all was well with the people who had been his before he was accepted into the clan.

  “I was on the roof of the house where my parents used to live,” Larten went on. “You were asleep—snoring, it goes without saying. Mr. Tiny appeared on the roof next to mine. I thought he was going to say something—he stood there for ages, looking at me directly—but then he turned and left.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Gavner asked.

  “I saw no reason to trouble you.”

  Gavner scowled. “I’m not a child. I don’t need to be protected.”

  “It had nothing to do with protection,” Larten said. “I simply did not wish to burden you with information that would have been of no use to you.”

  “How do you know it wouldn’t hav
e been useful?” Gavner grumbled. “I could have watched out for him. I might have been able to trap him.”

  “No one can trap Desmond Tiny,” Larten said. “When he does not want to be approached, it is impossible to get close to him. While he obviously finds the pair of us fascinating for some reason, it is equally clear that he has no interest in speaking with us. We would only waste our time if we—”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” somebody said brightly, and both vampires reeled away from the entrance to the crypt.

  As they recovered, they saw someone squatting outside the mouth of their den. He was blocking most of the light, but as he ducked forward, their eyes focused on a chubby, rosy, beaming face.

  “Well,” Mr. Tiny chuckled, rocking back and forth on his heels, shattering a small bone underfoot as he did so, “isn’t anyone going to invite me in?”

  Chapter

  Five

  Larten offered Mr. Tiny one of the rabbits, but he turned it down. “I prefer my meat raw,” he said scoldingly. “Where’s the pleasure in eating if you can’t feel the juices streaming down your chin as you bite in?”

  The short man was perched on one of the coffins. He had kicked off his left boot and was scratching the flesh of his foot with a bone he’d picked up from the ground. Larten was intrigued to see that Mr. Tiny’s toes were webbed.

  “You’ve grown a lot since our paths first crossed,” Mr. Tiny said to Gavner.

  “That was a long time ago,” Gavner said softly.

  “Hardly,” Mr. Tiny snorted, then eyed Gavner critically. “You were an ugly baby. At least that much hasn’t changed.”

  Gavner bristled, but Mr. Tiny only laughed and turned his attention to Larten. “I assume you’re aware of the dozens of stout-hearted Germans dogging your every move?”

  “Yes,” Larten said.

  Mr. Tiny flicked the bone he’d been scratching his foot with up into the air. He let it spin a couple of times, then caught it and proceeded to pick his teeth with it. Larten raised an eyebrow but said nothing. There was a long silence. Gavner felt uneasy, but Larten and Mr. Tiny both looked at ease.

  Mr. Tiny broke the silence. “You’ve matured since I saved you in that palace of ice. You remind me of Seba Nile now, serious and boring.”

  “I am not a jester,” Larten said calmly. “It is not my job to amuse you.”

  Mr. Tiny scowled. “I preferred you when you were suicidal.” He cast a catlike glance at Gavner. “Has he told you about the time he nearly leapt to his death?”

  “Yes,” Gavner said.

  Mr. Tiny rolled his eyes. “You two are about as much fun as…” He grumbled his way into silence again.

  Larten cleared his throat. “Have you traveled far?”

  “I’m always traveling,” Mr. Tiny replied. “I never stop in one place for long. There’s always some new tragedy to enjoy, a fresh disaster that merits an audience. I don’t get home often.”

  “You have a home?” Gavner asked.

  “Of course,” Mr. Tiny said. “Every man needs a place to put his feet up and call his castle. I might take you there one day, Master Purl. You could tell me tall tales and admire my collection.”

  “What do you collect?” Gavner asked, but Mr. Tiny waved the question away and cocked his head. “Ah. Here they come. Better late than never.”

  Larten and Gavner shared an uncertain look. They couldn’t hear anything. Then, out of nowhere, Larten heard the footsteps of several heavy people, close to the entrance to the crypt. He couldn’t understand how they had gotten so near without alerting him before this. It was as if they had dropped to the earth or appeared out of thin air.

  As Larten tensed and Gavner rose to his feet, eight strange figures entered the crypt and fanned out around Mr. Tiny’s coffin. They were even shorter than the meddler in yellow, and all were dressed in blue robes with hoods drawn over their heads to hide their faces.

  “The Little People,” Larten sighed, having heard the legends.

  “I must come up with a better name for them one day,” Mr. Tiny purred, leaning across to adjust the hood of the Little Person closest to him. Larten caught a glimpse of gray skin that had been stitched together, and a flash of green that might have been the creature’s eyes. Its mouth was covered with some sort of mask. Before he could probe further, the hood fell back into place and he saw nothing more of the Little Person’s face.

  “I’m taking them to the Cirque Du Freak,” Mr. Tiny said, and Larten’s eyes lit up.

  “The Cirque is nearby?” he gasped, surprising Gavner with his enthusiasm.

  Mr. Tiny nodded. “Just a few hours from here. That’s why I’m in the area. You didn’t think I dropped by just to pass the time with you and your pup, did you?”

  “Don’t call me a—” Gavner growled, taking a menacing step forward. Before he got any farther, four of the Little People stepped in front of him and shielded Mr. Tiny. They made no sounds and he couldn’t see their faces, but Gavner got the impression that they were snarling hungrily beneath their hoods.

  “If you don’t withdraw, they’ll tear you limb from limb and eat your flesh while it’s warm and bloody,” Mr. Tiny said cheerfully. He studied Gavner speculatively. “I believe I’ll ask them to keep your tongue for me.”

  Gavner retreated swiftly, only stopping when he backed into the wall. The Little People returned to their original positions. Mr. Tiny looked disappointed.

  Larten had taken no notice of the exchange. He was searching mentally for Mr. Tall, the owner of the Cirque Du Freak. The pair had bonded years before and Larten could track him the same way he could track Seba and Wester.

  After a few seconds the orange-haired vampire smiled. Mr. Tiny had told the truth—his old friend was no more than a couple of hours away. Larten brightened at the thought of meeting with Mr. Tall again. He adored the world of the Cirque Du Freak, its fantastical performers, the magical shows it produced without fail night after night.

  “You can come with me,” Mr. Tiny said. “I won’t be stopping—I just want to drop off my Little People—but you can stay once I’m gone.”

  Larten would have loved to accept the tiny man’s offer, but as he thought about it, his excitement dwindled. He didn’t want to lead the Nazis to the Cirque Du Freak—it might mean complications for Mr. Tall and his crew. Better to steer clear and return at a later date, when he was free of his vampiric duties.

  “No, thank you,” Larten said. “We must move on. We do not have time for social visits.”

  “As you like,” Mr. Tiny sniffed. He got to his feet, put his boot back on, and started for the exit.

  “One moment,” Larten stopped him.

  “Yes?” Mr. Tiny paused.

  “If you do not mind my asking, could you tell me why you are taking the Little People to the Cirque Du Freak?”

  Mr. Tiny shrugged. “I have a vested interest in the Cirque. Hibernius Tall might be my polar opposite when it comes to height, but we share many similar concerns. I help out in times of distress. Hibernius can usually take care of himself, but he doesn’t always act in his own best interest. Sometimes he is powerless to shield his performers from the cruelties of the world. In times of danger and terrible wars, I send a troop of Little People to travel with the Cirque and guard the cast and crew from catastrophe.”

  “But this is not a time of war,” Larten noted.

  “It will be soon,” Mr. Tiny chuckled, his eyes flashing with wicked delight. “The most delicious war ever will be hot upon us within a matter of years. I can’t wait. It’s going to be majestic. I plan to follow it in all its gory glory, so I need to see to Hibernius in advance, to avoid getting distracted later.”

  “You cannot know that for certain,” Larten said. “Like you, I think there will be another savage war, but it is a guess. Neither of us can be sure.”

  “I can,” Mr. Tiny purred. “Time is not the mystery for me that it is for you. I can see into the future. I know what lies ahead.”

  �
�If that is true, you could stop it,” Larten said. “You could intervene and halt it at its source.”

  “I could,” Mr. Tiny said thoughtfully, then grinned viciously. “But that wouldn’t be any fun!”

  Mr. Tiny threw a mock salute at Larten and Gavner, then ducked out of the crypt. His Little People followed like a line of giant, gloomy ducks. Larten and Gavner stared at each other. Before they could say anything, Mr. Tiny stuck his head back inside. “I almost forgot—you’ll be seeing your old friend Wester Flack soon. Give him my regards, won’t you?”

  “Wester?” Larten snapped. “What is he doing here, and how do you…?”

  Before he could complete the question, Mr. Tiny was gone, leaving a troubled Larten and a bewildered Gavner alone in the crypt with the remains of the dead.

  Chapter

  Six

  A week later, with the Nazis hot on their trail, Wester caught up with Larten and Gavner on a windswept mountain. It was raining heavily. The pair had been searching for a cave where they could rest during the day. Larten spotted Wester from a long way off, but they kept searching while the guard closed in on them.

  Larten hugged Wester when he arrived. The pair were like brothers and had been for most of their lives.

  “It is a joy to see you,” Larten greeted him.

  “You too,” Wester smiled, but he looked drawn and tired. He started to speak, but Larten shook his head and wiped rain from his face.

  “Help us find a cave. We can talk when we are sheltered and dry.”

  Wester scoured the mountain with the others. In the end they found a tiny cave—little more than a hole—and squeezed into it. At least the rain wouldn’t drench them here. There was no room to light a fire, but they generated enough body heat to warm the cramped space.

  As they wrung the worst of the rain out of their clothes, Larten asked casually, “Why have you been consulting with Desmond Tiny?”

  Wester stared at Larten, astonished. “How do you know that?”