Brothers to the Death

“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 travelling 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 which would have been of no use to you.”

“How do you know it wouldn’t have 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?”

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 cat-like 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 travelled far?”

“I’m always travelling,” Mr Tiny replied. “I never stop in one place for long. There’s always some new tragedy to enjoy, a fresh disaster which 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 got 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 him. Larten caught a glimpse of grey skin which had been stitched together, and a flash of green which 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?”