The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan

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      Larten nodded slowly.

      “Well, this is a nice surprise,” Seba chuckled. “Or is it? Would you rather we move on and not spend the night here? It might stir up old memories. Perhaps we should–”

      “I don’t mind,” Larten growled, feeling strangely uneasy, but not wanting to admit to his concerns. “It makes no difference to me. Stay or leave — I don’t give a damn.”

      “Very well,” Seba sniffed. “In that case we will stay. And, Larten?” He shook a finger from side to side when Larten looked at him. “Do not.”

      The innkeeper was surprised to see three travellers abroad at such an hour, but Seba said they had been travelling in a carriage that had crashed when their horse lost its footing. The innkeeper expressed his sympathy, then gave them a reduced rate for the night – against Seba’s protestations – and led them to their rooms, one for Seba and one for his assistants.

      “A kind and generous gentleman,” Seba noted as the innkeeper returned to his post. He turned questioningly to Larten. “Are all the people in your city of such fine standing?”

      “Not that I recall,” Larten said darkly, thinking about Traz and the way the foreman had murdered Vur Horston all those years ago.

      “Well, perhaps they have improved in your absence,” Seba smiled, then bid the pair goodnight and turned in.

      Larten sat by the window in their room and said nothing, staring out at the darkness and the few people who passed by during the remainder of the night. He was remembering his old life, the days when he and Vur had set off to work each morning, fearing Traz’s wrath, but pleased to be together, making wild plans for the future, dreaming of a time when they could break free of the factory and city and head off out into the brave, unexplored world beyond.

      Wester kept a close watch on Larten. He was certain that this was no accident. Seba had brought them here on purpose. He guessed it was to get Larten thinking about the past, the path he had taken in life, the decisions he had made. Nothing could turn a person’s thoughts towards the future more than a volley of ghosts from the past.

      Wester didn’t want to play Seba’s game. He was worried where it would lead and what might happen to Larten if he rebelled as Seba wished. He was tempted to say nothing, keep his head down and hope that Larten stayed in the room until Seba announced that it was time for them to leave. But that would have been unfair. He could sense, by the way Larten shot him occasional glances, that his friend wanted to talk about this. So in the end he put his concerns aside and asked the question that Larten needed him to ask.

      “Are you going to visit your family?”

      Larten blinked as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

      “What family would that be?” he replied.

      “Your human family.”

      Larten shook his head. “I am no longer human. They mean nothing to me.”

      “They’re still your family,” Wester said.

      “The members of the clan are my only family now,”

      Larten insisted. “Vampires have no need of human relatives.”

      “But don’t you want to find out what happened to them?” Wester asked. “Aren’t you interested in their fate, if they’re alive or dead, sick or well, successful or poor?”

      Larten shrugged. “I put such concerns behind me when I became Seba’s assistant. I serve him now. I do not wish to divide my loyalties.”

      “How can finding out what happened to your family result in a division?” Wester pressed. “It’s natural to be concerned about those you were close to. Your family played a huge part in your life when you lived here. I know you were closer to your cousin than any of the others, but you still cared about them, and I’m sure they cared about you.”

      “I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Larten huffed. “I bet they were glad to be rid of me — it meant more food for the rest of them.”

      “I doubt they were that cold,” Wester said softly.

      “You never met them, so how would you know?” Larten sneered.

      “They were your kin,” Wester said. “They shared your blood. They must have had some good qualities, or where did yours come from?”

      “Don’t try and flatter me,” Larten growled, fighting to hide a warm smile. “You know that I love you as a brother,” Wester said.

      “Stop!” Larten winced. “You’re going to make me cry!”

      “Shut up,” Wester snapped. “I’m serious. I love and respect you, Larten, and have always looked up to you. But I’m envious of you too. Not because you’re faster or stronger than me, or because Seba is much prouder of you than he is of me — don’t deny it.”

      “I wasn’t going to,” Larten said.

      Wester’s face dropped. “Weren’t you?”

      Larten chuckled. “Well, maybe I was.”

      Wester grinned, then continued. “None of that matters to me. The reason I envy you is because you have family and I don’t. I wouldn’t trade my time as a vampire for anything in this world, with one exception. If I could restore life to my parents, brother and sister, I would. If it meant giving up my powers, turning my back on the clan, Seba and you, I wouldn’t have to think twice. I miss them so much, even all these years later.”

      “But I wasn’t as close to my family as you were to yours,” Larten said quietly.

      “All the same,” Wester sniffed, “they were your family. If I had a chance to see Ma again, to listen to Da grumbling about the weather, to fight over some stupid argument with Jon…”

      Wester fell silent. It was dawn outside. The two vampires sat in their room and watched the sun rising, the street outside coming into sharper focus.

      After a while, Larten sighed and stood. “I’m going out.”

      Wester nodded, asked no questions, and said nothing for a few minutes. Then, when he was sure that Larten had left the inn, he raised his voice slightly and said, “He’s gone.”

      In the room next to his came a muffled response from Seba. “Good.”

      Then the vampire master and his assistant lay back on their beds, separated by the thin wall, and stared anxiously at the ceiling, wondering where Larten would go and what he would find in the city of his long-lost youth.

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      The city had changed vastly since Larten had fled from the factory. New factories had opened for business. Old houses had been torn down and rebuilt. There were whole streets and roads he didn’t remember at all.

      Yet much was as it had been, just a touch dirtier and dustier than before. The markets still existed, traders laying out their wares as they had when he was a child. Popular inns and taverns drew the same sort of rowdy СКАЧАТЬ