The Lake of Souls. Darren Shan

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СКАЧАТЬ night darkened and grew colder around me.

      As another week dragged by, I withdrew further and further inside myself. I no longer answered people when they asked a question, only grunted like an animal. Harkat had tried talking me out of my mood three days earlier, but I swore at him and told him to leave me alone. He lost his temper and took a swipe at me. I could have ducked out of the way of his chunky grey fist, but I let him knock me to the ground. When he bent to help me up, I swatted his hand away. He hadn’t spoken to me since.

      Life went on as usual around me. The Cirque folk were excited. Truska – a lady who could grow a beard at will, then suck the hairs back into her face – had returned after an absence of several months. A big party was held after that night’s performance to celebrate her return. There was much cheering and singing. I didn’t attend. I sat by myself at the edge of camp, stony-faced and dry-eyed, thinking – as usual – about Mr Crepsley.

      Late in the night, there was a tap on my shoulder. Glancing up, I saw Truska, smiling, holding out a slice of cake. “I know you feeling low, but I’m thinking you might like this,” she said. Truska was still learning to speak English and often mangled her words.

      “Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I said. “Good to see you again. How have you been?” Truska didn’t answer. She stared at me a moment — then thrust the slice of cake into my face! “What the hell!” I roared, leaping to my feet.

      “That what you get for being big moody-guts,” Truska laughed. “I know you sad, Darren, but you can’t sit round like grumpy bear all time.”

      “You don’t know anything about it,” I snapped. “You don’t know what I’m feeling. Nobody does!”

      She looked at me archly. “You think you the only one to lose somebody close? I had husband and daughter. They get killed by evil fishermen.”

      I blinked stupidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

      “Nobody here does.” She sat beside me, brushed her long hair out of her eyes and gazed up at the sky. “That why I left home and joined with Cirque Du Freak. I hurted terrible inside and had to get away. My daughter was less than two years old when she die.”

      I wanted to say something but my throat felt as though there was a rope tied tight around it.

      “The death of somebody you love is the second worst thing in world,” Truska said softly. “Worst thing is letting it hurt you so much that you die too — inside. Larten’s dead and I am sad for him, but if you go on as you are being, I will be sadder for you, because you will be dead too, even though your body lives.”

      “I can’t help it,” I sighed. “He was like a father to me, but I didn’t cry when he died. I still haven’t. I can’t.”

      Truska studied me silently, then nodded. “It hard to live with sadness if you can’t get it out with tears. Don’t worry — you’ll cry in end. Maybe you feel better when you do.” Standing, she offered me a hand. “You is dirty and smelly. Let me help clean you up. It might help.”

      “I doubt it,” I said, but followed her into the tent that Mr Tall had prepared for her. I wiped the traces of cake from around my face, undressed and wrapped a towel around myself while Truska filled a tub with hot water and layered it with scented oils. She left me to get in. I felt foolish stepping into the sweet-smelling water, but it was wonderful once I lay down. I stayed there for almost an hour.

      Truska came in when I’d stepped out of the tub and dried myself. She’d taken my dirty clothes, so I had to keep a towel wrapped around my middle. She made me sit in a low chair and set about my nails with a pair of scissors and a file. I told her they wouldn’t be any good – vampires have extra-tough nails – but she smiled and clipped the top of the nail off my right big toe. “These super-sharp scissors. I know all about vampire nails — I sometimes cut Vancha’s!”

      When Truska was done with my nails, she trimmed my hair, then shaved me and finished off with a quick massage. When she stopped, I stood and asked where my clothes were. “Fire,” she smirked. “They was rotten. I chucked them away.”

      “So what do you suggest I wear?” I grumbled.

      “I have surprise,” she said. Going to a wardrobe, she plucked forth brightly coloured clothes and draped them across the foot of her bed. I instantly recognized the bright green shirt, purple trousers and blue-gold jacket — the pirate costume I used to wear when I lived at the Cirque Du Freak.

      “You kept them,” I muttered, smiling foolishly.

      “I told you last time you was here that I have them and would fix them so you can wear again, remember?”

      It seemed like years since we’d stopped at the Cirque shortly before our first encounter with the Lord of the Vampaneze. Now that I cast my mind back, I recalled Truska promising to adjust my old costume when she had a chance.

      “I wait outside,” Truska said. “Put them on and call when you ready.”

      I took a long time getting into the clothes. It felt weird to be pulling them on after all these years. The last time I’d worn them, I’d been a boy, still coming to terms with being a half-vampire, unaware of how hard and unforgiving the world could be. Back then I thought the clothes looked cool, and I loved wearing them. Now they looked childish and silly to me, but since Truska had gone to the trouble of preparing them, I figured I’d better put them on to please her.

      I called her when I was ready. She smiled as she entered, then went to a different wardrobe and came back with a brown hat adorned with a long feather. “I not have shoes your size,” she said. “We get some later.”

      Pulling on the hat, I tilted it at an angle and smiled self-consciously at Truska. “How do I look?”

      “See for yourself,” she replied, and led me to a full-length mirror.

      My breath caught in my throat as I came face to face with my reflection. It may have been a trick of the dim light, but in the fresh clothes and hat, with my clean-shaven face, I looked very young, like when Truska first kitted me out in this costume.

      “What you think?” Truska asked.

      “I look like a child,” I whispered.

      “That is partly the mirror,” she chuckled. “It is made to take off a few years — very kind to women!”

      Removing the hat, I ruffled my hair and squinted at myself. I looked older when I squinted — lines sprang up around my eyes, a reminder of the sleepless nights I’d endured since Mr Crepsley’s death. “Thanks,” I said, turning away from the mirror.

      Truska put a firm hand on my head and swivelled me back towards my reflection. “You not finished,” she said.

      “What do you mean?” I asked. “I’ve seen all there is to see.”

      “No,” she said. “You haven’t.” Leaning forward, she tapped the mirror. “Look at your eyes. Look deep in them, and don’t turn away until you see.”

      “See what?” I asked, but she didn’t answer. Frowning, I gazed into my eyes, reflected in the mirror, searching for anything strange. They looked the same as ever, a little sadder than usual, but…

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