Tunnels of Blood

“I’m not sure,” Gavner said. “I think about a hundred and eighty or two hundred.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m a whippersnapper,” he said. “Barely past the hundred mark.”

“A hundred years old!” I whistled softly.

“That’s nothing for a vampire,” Gavner said. “I was barely nineteen when first blooded and only twenty-two when I became a full-vampire. I could live to be a good five hundred years old, the gods of the vampires permitting.”

“Five hundred…!” I couldn’t imagine being so old.

“Picture trying to blow out the candles on that cake!” Gavner chuckled. Then he stood. “I must be off. I’ve fifty kilometres to make before dawn. I’ll have to slip into overdrive.” He grimaced. “I hate flitting. I always feel sick afterwards.”

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

“Probably,” he replied. “The world’s a small place. I’m sure our paths will cross again one fine gloomy night.” He shook my hand. “So long, Darren Shan.”

“Until next time, Gavner Purl,” I said.

“Next time,” he agreed, and then he was off. He took several deep breaths and started to jog. After a while he broke into a sprint. I stood where I was, watching him run, until he hit flitting speed and disappeared in the snapping of an eyelid, at which point I turned and headed back to camp.

I found Mr Crepsley in his van. He was sitting by the window (it was completely covered with strips of dark sticky tape, to block out the sun during the day), staring moodily off into space.

“Gavner’s gone,” I said.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“He didn’t stay long,” I remarked.

“He is a Vampire General,” Mr Crepsley said. “His time is not his own.”

“I liked him.”

“He is a fine vampire and a good friend,” Mr Crepsley agreed.

I cleared my throat. “He said you might be leaving too.”

Mr Crepsley regarded me suspiciously. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” I lied quickly. “I asked why he couldn’t stay longer and he said there was no point, as you’d probably be moving on soon.”

Mr Crepsley nodded. “Gavner brought unpleasant news,” he said carefully. “I will have to leave the Cirque for a while.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To a city,” he responded vaguely.

“What about me?” I asked.

Mr Crepsley scratched his scar thoughtfully. “That is what I have been contemplating,” he said. “I would prefer not to take you with me but I think I must. I may have need of you.”

“But I like it here,” I complained. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Nor do I,” Mr Crepsley snapped. “But I must. And you have to come with me. Remember: we are vampires, not circus performers. The Cirque Du Freak is a means of cover, not our home.”

“How long will we be away?” I asked unhappily.

“Days. Weeks. Months. I cannot say for sure.”

“What if I refuse to come?”

He studied me ominously. “An assistant who does not obey orders has no purpose,” he said quietly. “If I cannot rely on your cooperation, I will have to take steps to remove you from my employ.”

“You mean you’d sack me?” I smiled bitterly.

“There is only one way to deal with a rebellious half-vampire,” he answered, and I knew what that way was – a stake through the heart!

“It’s not fair,” I grumbled. “What am I going to do by myself all day in a strange city while you’re asleep?”

“What did you do when you were a human?” he asked.

“Things were different,” I said. “I had friends and a family. I’m going to be alone again if we leave, like when I first joined up with you.”

“It will be hard,” Mr Crepsley said compassionately, “but we have no choice. I must be away with the coming of dusk – I would leave now, were we not so near to dawn – and you must come with me. There is no other…”

He stopped as a thought struck him. “Of course,” he said slowly, “we could bring another along.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We could take Evra with us.”

I frowned as I considered it.

“The two of you are good friends, yes?” Mr Crepsley asked.

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t know how he’d feel about leaving. And there’s his snake: what would we do with that?”

“I am sure somebody could look after the snake,” Mr Crepsley said, warming to the idea. “Evra would be good company for you. And he is wiser: he could keep you out of mischief when I am not around.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” I huffed.

“No,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “but a guardian would not go amiss. You have a habit of getting into trouble when left to your own devices. Remember when you stole Madam Octa? And the mess we had with that human boy, Sam whatever his name was?”

“That wasn’t my fault!” I yelled.

“Indeed not,” Mr Crepsley said. “But it happened when you were by yourself.”

I pulled a face but didn’t say anything.