Vampire Rites Trilogy. Darren Shan
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Название: Vampire Rites Trilogy
Автор: Darren Shan
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007485109
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“What’s wrong?” Gavner groaned softly, half-opening an eye.
“Nothing,” I said uncertainly, then asked Gavner if any vampire children lived in the mountain.
“No,” he said, closing his eye. “You’re the only blooded kid, as far as I know.”
“Then I must have been imagining things,” I yawned, and lay down again, though I kept one ear cocked while I dozed.
Later we rose and proceeded further up the mountain, taking the tunnels marked with arrows. After what seemed an age we came to a large wooden door blocking the tunnel. Mr Crepsley made himself presentable, then knocked loudly with his bare knuckles. There was no immediate answer, so he knocked again, then again.
Finally there were sounds of life on the far side of the door and it opened. Torchlight flared from within. It was blinding to us after so long in the tunnels and we shielded our eyes until they’d adjusted.
A lean vampire in dark green clothes emerged and cast an eye over us. He frowned when he saw Harkat and me, and took a firmer grip on the long spear he was holding. I could see others behind him, dressed in green as well, none lacking a weapon.
“Address yourselves to the gate,” the guard barked. The vampires had told me this was how newcomers were greeted.
“I am Larten Crepsley, come to seek Council,” Mr Crepsley said. It was the standard reply.
“I am Gavner Purl, come to seek Council,” Gavner said.
“I am Darren Shan, come to seek Council,” I told the guard.
“I … Harkat Mulds. Come … seek Council,” Harkat wheezed.
“Larten Crepsley is recognized by the gate,” the guard said. “And Gavner Purl is recognized. But these other two…” He pointed his spear at us and shook his head.
“They are our travelling companions,” Mr Crepsley said. “The boy is my assistant, a half-vampire.”
“Do you vouch for him?” the guard asked.
“I do.”
“Then Darren Shan is recognized by the gate.” The tip of his spear pointed firmly at Harkat now. “But this is no vampire. What business has he at Council?”
“His name is Harkat Mulds, He is a Little Person. He –”
“A Little Person!” the guard gasped, lowering his spear. He crouched and made a rude study of Harkat’s face (Harkat had removed his hood soon after we entered the tunnels, the better to see by). “He’s an ugly specimen, isn’t he?” the guard remarked. If he hadn’t been carrying a spear, I’d have ticked him off for speaking so inconsiderately. “I thought the Little People couldn’t speak.”
“We all thought that,” Mr Crepsley said. “But they can. At least, this one can. He has a message for the Princes, to be delivered in person.”
“A message?” The guard scratched his chin with the tip of the spear. “From who?”
“Desmond Tiny,” Mr Crepsley replied.
The guard blanched, stood to attention and said quickly, “The Little Person known as Harkat Mulds is recognized by the gate. The Halls are open to all of you. Enter and fare well.”
He stepped aside and let us pass. Moments later the door closed behind us and our journey to the Halls of Vampire Mountain was at an end.
ONE OF the green-clad guards escorted us to the Hall of Osca Velm, which was a Hall of welcome (most of the Halls were named after famous vampires). This was a small cavern, the walls knobbly and black with the grime and soot of decades. It was warmed and lit by several open fires, the air pleasantly thick with smoke (the smoke slowly exited the cavern through natural cracks and holes in the ceiling). There were several roughly-carved tables and benches where arriving vampires could rest and eat (the legs of the tables had been fashioned from the bones of large animals). There were hand-woven baskets full of shoes on the walls, which newcomers were free to pick from. You could also find out who was in attendance at the Council – a large black stone was set in one of the walls, and the name of every vampire who’d arrived was etched upon it. As we sat at a long wooden table, I saw a vampire climb a ladder and add our names to the list. After Harkat’s, he put in brackets, ‘A Little Person’.
There weren’t many vampires in the quiet, smoky Hall – ourselves, a few more who’d recently arrived, and several green-uniformed guards. A vampire with long hair, wearing no top, came over to us with two round barrels. One was packed to the top with loaves of hard bread, the other was half-full of gristly bits of both raw and cooked meat.
We took as much as we wished to eat and set it down on the table (there were no plates), using our fingers and teeth to break off chunks. The vampire returned with three large jugs, filled with human blood, wine and water. I asked for a mug, but Gavner told me you had to pour straight from the jug. It was difficult – I soaked my chin and chest with water the first time I tried – but it was more fun than drinking out of a cup.
The bread was stale, but the vampire brought bowls of hot broth (the bowls were carved from the skulls of various beasts), and the bread was fine if you tore a piece off and dipped it in the thick, dark broth for a few seconds. “This is great,” I said, munching away at my third slice.
“The best,” Gavner agreed. He was already on his fifth.
“How come you’re not having any broth?” I asked Mr Crepsley, who was eating his bread plain.
“Bat broth does not agree with me,” he replied.
My hand froze on its way to my mouth. The soaked piece of bread I’d been holding fell to the table. “Bat broth?” I yelped.
“Of course,” Gavner said. “What did you think it was made of?”
I stared down into the dark liquid of the bowl. The light was poor in the cavern, but now that I focused, I spotted a thin, leathery wing sticking out of the broth. “I think I’m going to be sick!” I moaned.
“Don’t be stupid,” Gavner chortled. “You loved it when you didn’t know what it was. Just get it down you and pretend it’s nice fresh chicken soup – you’ll eat a lot worse than bat broth before your stay in Vampire Mountain’s over!”
I pushed the bowl away. “Actually, I feel quite full,” I muttered. “I’ll leave it for now.” I glanced at Harkat, who was mopping up the last of his broth with a thick slice of bread. “You don’t mind eating bats?” I asked.
Harkat shrugged. “I’ve no taste … buds. Food is … all the same … to me.”
“You can’t taste anything?” I asked.
“Bat … dog … mud – no difference. I have no … sense of smell СКАЧАТЬ