The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan

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      “Towards Strasling’s,” the man said and a fearful sigh swept through the crowd.

      The boy rose slowly, his gaze still fixed on the grey-haired man, who gulped and said, “Did you see anything, Wester?”

      The boy shook his head. “I was sleeping in the shed. Jon had a cold and was snoring like a pig. I went to the shed to escape the noise.”

      “We should go to Strasling’s,” a woman cried from behind them. “Take crosses and stakes and…”

      She fell silent when others glared at her. Larten was surprised by their reaction. He’d assumed the villagers would be eager for revenge. But as he glanced around, he saw that most were looking at the floor with shame.

      “We all know why this happened,” Wester said. He had a soft voice and there was a trembling edge to it, but he spoke clearly. “My da helped kill one of those beasts last year. We moved to a new home afterwards, in case any of its kin came seeking revenge, but they must have found us anyway. Ma tried to tell him we hadn’t gone far enough, but he wouldn’t…”

      Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and he stalled. People blessed themselves and muttered words of consolation. But nobody slid forward to embrace Wester or pledge their support.

      “I’ve got to go to Strasling’s,” Wester said, brushing away tears. “I know if any of you come with me, and we kill this monster, another might come looking for you and your folk, like this one came for my da and us. I won’t ask for help, but I’d appreciate it if anyone offers.”

      Wester stood over the bodies of his dead family, head low, awaiting a response. When nobody said a word, he nodded sadly and picked up a bag lying to the left of his father. “I’d be grateful if you’d bury them, and me too if you find my bones.”

      The boy strode through the ranks of men – they parted before him like a flock of sheep breaking ahead of a wolf – and marched up the aisle. He slipped out and closed the door softly behind him.

      “We should help!” the woman who’d spoken earlier shouted. “If we don’t, we’re nothing but–”

      “We know what we are!” one of the men roared. “You think any of us wants to let a child like that go off by himself? But Jess Flack interfered and look where it got him. If he’d left the monster alone when it came to his village, he’d be alive now, and his family too.”

      “We’ll pray for him,” another man said, moving to the altar. Larten realised this was the priest. “Maybe he’ll find the strength to kill this thing and that will be the end of it.”

      The other men looked dubious, but filed back to the pews, joining their wives and children. Soon Larten and the priest were the only two standing. The priest smiled uncertainly at the youthful stranger and waved for him to step down. In response, Larten spat at the priest’s feet. A shocked gasp ran through the church.

      “You’re nothing but cowards,” Larten snarled, the words coming from a dark, angry place inside him. “I hope your animals die, your crops fail and that each one of you rots in the fires of hell.” He felt the same sort of cold fury he’d felt the day he killed Traz.

      As the church members gawped at him, Larten considered adding a few curses, then decided against it and hurried down the aisle. Wester Flack had a head start. If he didn’t catch up with the boy quickly, he might lose him — unlike the rest of the people in the church, Larten didn’t know the way to Strasling’s.

      A couple of minutes later, Larten drew alongside Wester. The boy frowned warily at the orange-haired stranger.

      “I’m Larten Crepsley. I want to help if you’ll have me.”

      “Why?” Wester asked. “I don’t know you. What business is this of yours?”

      Larten didn’t want to confess to being worried that the murders might be the work of a vampire like his master, so he told Wester the other – equally truthful – reason for his interest.

      “You remind me of myself. I once went up against a foul murderer and nobody helped me. I had to face him all on my own.”

      “What happened?” Wester asked.

      “I killed him.”

      Wester gulped, then said, “This is no ordinary killer. It’s a monster. The beast is stronger and faster than us. I’ll most likely die, and if you come with me, you will too.”

      “I’m not afraid of death,” Larten said quietly. “And I’ve no family to worry about, unlike those cowards back in that church.”

      “It’s not their fault,” Wester sniffed. “The monsters don’t pass through here often and never kill many when they do. But if you anger them…”

      “This isn’t the first time that it’s happened?” Larten asked and Wester shook his head. Larten licked his lips and tried to make his next question sound natural. “Do you have a name for the monsters?”

      “The old wives have lots of names,” Wester snorted. “Most of us just call them bloodsuckers, because they drink the blood of those they kill.” He cocked an eyebrow at Larten. “Still want to come with me?”

      “Do you see me backing off?” Larten growled.

      Wester sighed. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not myself. When I walked in and found them…”

      Larten gave the boy’s arm a squeeze, remembering what it had felt like when he lost Vur, trying to imagine how it must feel to find all your family murdered at the same time, to be the only survivor. His heart went out to Wester, and he swore a silent oath to do all that he could to protect this lonely, brave orphan.

      “What’s Strasling’s?” Larten asked.

      “A burnt-down mansion,” Wester explained. “The man who lived there was evil. He practised dark magic and killed lots of people. The villagers say the house was struck by lightning and all within died by the hand of God. But I think a group of them torched it and drove back those inside when they tried to get out.”

      “Nice place you picked to come and live,” Larten grinned.

      Wester managed a weak chuckle. “We didn’t have much choice. After Da helped kill the monster last year, we weren’t welcome in our own village, nor any of the others. I think they only accepted us here because they still feel guilty about what happened in Strasling’s.”

      “The monster your father killed,” Larten said carefully. “What was it like?”

      “I don’t know. He never told us. But he took this bag when he went after it. I brought it with me from the house.”

      Wester opened the leather bag and Larten peered inside. He saw a hammer, a cross, a bottle of clear liquid that he guessed was holy water, some garlic, a small saw and three wooden stakes.

      “The cross and holy water will hurt the monster, but not kill it,” Wester said with the air of a person who’d done this a dozen times. “We need to drive a stake through its heart, then cut off its head, scoop out its brains and fill the skull with garlic. Then bury the body and head separately at the centre СКАЧАТЬ