Allies of the Night. Darren Shan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ like to know who you are first,” I said. “These are dangerous times. I’ve been told not to open the door to strangers.”

      “Ah. Excellent,” the little man said again. “I should of course not expect you to open the door to an unannounced visitor. Forgive me. My name is Mr Blaws.”

      “Blores?”

      “Blaws,” he said, and patiently spelt it out.

      “What do you want, Mr Blaws?” I asked.

      “I’m a school inspector,” he replied. “I’ve come to find out why you aren’t in school.”

      My jaw dropped about a thousand kilometres.

      “May I come in, Darren?” Mr Blaws asked. When I didn’t answer, he rapped on the door again and sung out, “Darrrrennn?”

      “Um. Just a minute, please,” I muttered, then turned my back to the door and leant weakly against it, wildly wondering what I should do.

      If I turned the inspector away, he’d return with help, so in the end I opened the door and let him in. The hotel manager departed once he saw that everything was OK, leaving me alone with the serious-looking Mr Blaws. The little man set his briefcase down on the floor, then removed his bowler hat and held it in his left hand, behind his back, as he shook my hand with his right. He was studying me carefully. There was a light layer of bristle on my chin, my hair was long and scruffy, and my face still carried small scars and burn marks from my Trials of Initiation seven years before.

      “You look quite old,” Mr Blaws commented, sitting down without being asked. “Very mature for fifteen. Maybe it’s the hair. You could do with a trim and a shave.”

      “I guess…” I didn’t know why he thought I was fifteen, and I was too bewildered to correct him.

      “So!” he boomed, laying his bowler hat aside and his huge briefcase across his lap. “Your father – Mr Horston – is he in?”

      “Um … yeah. He’s … sleeping.” I was finding it hard to string words together.

      “Oh, of course. I forgot he was on night shifts. Perhaps I should call back at a more convenient…” He trailed off, thumbed open his briefcase, dug out a sheet of paper and studied it as though it was an historical document. “Ah,” he said. “Not possible to rearrange — I’m on a tight schedule. You’ll have to wake him.”

      “Um. Right. I’ll go … see if he’s…” I hurried through to where the vampire lay sleeping and anxiously shook him awake. Harkat stood back, saying nothing — he’d heard everything and was just as confused as I was.

      Mr Crepsley opened one eye, saw that it was daytime, and shut it again. “Is the hotel on fire?” he groaned.

      “No.”

      “Then go away and–”

      “There’s a man in my room. A school inspector. He knows our names – at least, the names we checked in under – and he thinks I’m fifteen. He wants to know why I’m not at school.”

      Mr Crepsley shot out of bed as though he’d been bitten. “How can this be?” he snapped. He rushed to the door, stopped, then retreated slowly. “How did he identify himself?”

      “Just told me his name — Mr Blaws.”

      “It could be a cover story.”

      “I don’t think so. The manager of the hotel was with him. He wouldn’t have let him up if he wasn’t on the level. Besides, he looks like a school inspector.”

      “Looks can be deceptive,” Mr Crepsley noted.

      “Not this time,” I said. “You’d better get dressed and come meet him.”

      The vampire hesitated, then nodded sharply. I left him to prepare, and went to close the curtains in my room. Mr Blaws looked at me oddly. “My father’s eyes are very sensitive,” I said. “That’s why he prefers to work at night.”

      “Ah,” Mr Blaws said. “Excellent.”

      We said nothing more for the next few minutes, while we waited for my ‘father’ to make his entrance. I felt very uncomfortable, sitting in silence with this stranger, but he acted as though he felt perfectly at home. When Mr Crepsley finally entered, Mr Blaws stood and shook his hand, not letting go of the briefcase. “Mr Horston,” the inspector beamed. “A pleasure, sir.”

      “Likewise.” Mr Crepsley smiled briefly, then sat as far away from the curtains as he could and drew his red robes tightly around himself.

      “So!” Mr Blaws boomed after a short silence. “What’s wrong with our young trooper?”

      “Wrong?” Mr Crepsley blinked. “Nothing is wrong.”

      “Then why isn’t he at school with all the other boys and girls?”

      “Darren does not go to school,” Mr Crepsley said, as though speaking to an idiot. “Why should he?”

      Mr Blaws was taken aback. “Why, to learn, Mr Horston, the same as any other fifteen year old.”

      “Darren is not…” Mr Crepsley stopped. “How do you know his age?” he asked cagily.

      “From his birth certificate, of course,” Mr Blaws laughed.

      Mr Crepsley glanced at me for an answer, but I was as lost as he was, and could only shrug helplessly. “And how did you acquire that?” the vampire asked.

      Mr Blaws looked at us strangely. “You included it with the rest of the relevant forms when you enrolled him at Mahler’s,” he said.

      “Mahler’s?” Mr Crepsley repeated.

      “The school you chose to send Darren to.”

      Mr Crepsley sank back in his chair and brooded on that. Then he asked to see the birth certificate, along with the other ‘relevant forms’. Mr Blaws reached into his briefcase again and fished out a folder. “There you go,” he said. “Birth certificate, records from his previous school, medical certificates, the enrolment form you filled in. Everything present and correct.”

      Mr Crepsley opened the file, flicked through a few sheets, studied the signatures at the bottom of one form, then passed the file across to me. “Look through those papers,” he said. “Check that the information is … correct.”

      It wasn’t correct, of course – I wasn’t fifteen and hadn’t been to school recently; nor had I visited a doctor since joining the ranks of the undead – but it was fully detailed. The files built up a complete picture of a fifteen-year-old boy called Darren Horston, who’d moved to this city during the summer with his father, a man who worked night shifts in a local abattoir and…

      My breath caught in my throat — the abattoir was the one where we’d first encountered the mad vampaneze, Murlough, thirteen years ago! “Look at this!” I gasped, holding the form out to Mr Crepsley, but he waved it away.

      “Is СКАЧАТЬ