by Darren Shan
When we were all seated, Mr. Tall closed the door, then sat on the floor in the middle of us, legs crossed neatly, huge bony hands resting on his knees. “I hope you do not think me rude for not visiting,” he said to me. “I knew you would recover, and I had much to put in order here.”
“That’s OK.” I smiled, taking off my sunglasses and putting them to one side.
“It is good to see you again, Vancha,” Mr. Tall said, and then welcomed Debbie and Alice.
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” Vancha grunted, “let’s get down to business. You knew what was going to happen at the football arena, aye?”
“I had my suspicions,” Mr. Tall said cagily, his lips barely moving.
“But you let Darren go regardless? You let his friend die?”
“I did not ‘let’ anything happen,” Mr. Tall disagreed. “Events unfolded the way they had to. It is not my place to interfere in the unraveling of destiny. You know that, Vancha. We have had this conversation before. Several times.”
“And I still don’t buy it,” Vancha grumbled. “If I had the power to see into the future, I’d use it to help those I cared about. You could have told us who the Lord of the Vampaneze was. Larten would be alive now if you’d warned us.”
“No,” Mr. Tall said. “Larten would have died. The circumstances might have differed, but his death was inevitable. I could not have altered that.”
“You should still have tried,” Vancha persisted. Mr. Tall smiled thinly, then looked at me. “You have come to seek guidance. You wish to know where your one-time friend, Steve Leonard, is.”
“Can you tell us?” I asked softly.
“No,” Mr. Tall said. “But rest assured, he will make himself known soon. You will not have to dredge the depths for him.”
“Does that mean he’s going to attack?” Vancha pressed. “Is he nearby? When does he plan to strike? Where?”
“I grow weary of your questions,” Mr. Tall growled, his eyes flashing menacingly. “If I could step in and play an active part in the affairs of the vampire clan, I would. It is much harder to stand back and watch passively. Harder than you could ever imagine. You wept for Larten when he died — but I grieved for him for thirty years in advance, since glimpsing his probable death.”
“You mean you didn’t know for . . . sure that he’d die?” Harkat asked.
“I knew he would come to the point where it was his life or the Lord of the Vampaneze’s, but I could not see beyond that — though I feared the worst.”
“And what of our next encounter?” I asked quietly. “When Vancha and I face Steve for the last time — who’ll die then?”
“I do not know,” Mr. Tall said. “Looking into the future is more often than not a painful experience. It is better not to know the fate of your friends and loved ones. I lift the lid off the present as seldom as possible. There are times when I cannot avoid it, when my own destiny forces me to look. But only rarely.”
“So you don’t know if we’ll win or lose?” I asked. “Nobody knows that,” Mr. Tall said. “Not even Desmond Tiny.”
“But if we lose,” I said, and there was an edge to my voice now. “If the vampaneze are triumphant, and Steve kills one of us — which will it be?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Tall said.
“But you could find out,” I pressed. “You could look into the future where we’ve lost and see which of us survived.”
“Why should I?” Mr. Tall sighed. “What profit would there be in it?”
“I want to know,” I insisted.
“Maybe it would be better —” Vancha began to say. “No!” I hissed. “I must know. For two years I’ve dreamt of the destruction of the clan, and listened to the screams of those who’ll perish if we fail. If I’m to die, so be it. But tell me, please, so I can prepare myself for it.”
“I cannot,” Mr. Tall said unhappily. “Nobody can predict which of you will kill the Vampaneze Lord — or die at his hand.”
“Then look further ahead,” I pleaded. “Go twenty years ahead, or thirty. Do you see Vancha or me in that future?”
“Leave me out of this!” Vancha snapped. “I don’t want to mess about with stuff like that.”
“Then just look for me,” I said, staring hard at Mr. Tall.
Mr. Tall held my gaze, then said quietly, “You are sure?”
I stiffened. “Yes!”
“Very well.” Mr. Tall lowered his gaze and closed his eyes. “I cannot be as specific as you state, but I will cast my eyes a number of decades forward and . . .”
Mr. Tall trailed off into silence. Vancha, Harkat, Debbie, Alice, and I watched, awed, as his face twitched and glowed a light red color. The owner of the Cirque Du Freak seemed to stop breathing and the temperature of the air dropped several degrees. For five minutes he held that pose, face glowing and twitching, lips sealed. Then he breathed out, the glow faded, his eyes opened, and the temperature returned to normal.
“I have looked,” he said, his expression unreadable. “And?” I croaked.
“I did not find you there.”
I smiled bitterly. “I knew it. If the clan falls, it will fall because of me. I’m the doomed one in the future where we lose.”
“Not necessarily,” Mr. Tall said. “I looked fifty or sixty years ahead, long after the fall of the vampires. You might have died after all of the others had been killed.”
“Then bring it forward,” I demanded. “Look twenty or thirty years ahead.”
“No,” Mr. Tall said stiffly. “I have already seen more than I wished. I don’t want to suffer any further tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” I huffed. “What have you suffered?”
“Grief,” Mr. Tall said. He paused, then glanced at Vancha. “I know you told me not to look for you, old friend, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Vancha cursed, then braced himself. “Go on. Since this fool’s opened the can of worms, we might as well watch them wriggle. Hit me with the bad news.”
“I looked into both futures,” Mr. Tall said hollowly. “I did not mean to, but I cannot control these things. I looked into the future where the vampaneze won the War of the Scars, and also into the future where the vampires won — and although I found Darren in the latter future, I found you in neither.” He locked gazes with Vancha and muttered gloomily, “You were killed by the Lord of the Shadows in both.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VANCHA BLINKED SLOWLY. “You’re saying I’ll die whether we win or lose?” His voice was surprisingly steady.
“The Lord of the Shadows is destined to destroy you,” Mr. Tall replied. “I cannot say when or how it happens, but it will.”
“Who’s this Lord of the Shadows?” Harkat asked. I was the only person who’d been told about him. Evanna had warned me not to speak of it to anybody else.
“He’s the cruel leader who will ruin the world after the War of the Scars,” Mr. Tall said.
“I don’t get it,” Harkat grumbled. “If we kill Steve, then there won’t be a . . . Lord of the bloody Shadows.”
“Oh, but there will,” Mr. Tall said. “The world is set to produce a monster of unimaginable power and fury. His coming is unavoidable. Only his identity is yet to be determined — and that will be decided shortly.”
“The wasteworld,” Harkat said sickly. “You mean, even if we kill Steve, that’s what . . . the future will be? The desolate land where Darren and I found . . . out the truth about me — that’s what lies . . . in store?”
Mr. Tall hesitated, then nodded. “I could not tell you before. I have never spoken of matters such as this in the past. But we are at the time where no harm can come of revealing it, since nothing can be done to avert it. The Lord of the Shadows is upon us — within twenty-four hours he will be born, and all the world will tremble at his coming.”
There was a long, stunned silence. Vancha, Harkat, Debbie, and Alice were filled with confusion, especially the latter pair, who knew nothing of the
waste-world of the future. I was filled with fear. This was confirmation of all my worst nightmares. The Lord of the Shadows would rise regardless of what happened in the War of the Scars. And not only could I not prevent his coming — in one of the futures, I would be him. Which meant, if we won the war, at some stage in the next fifty or sixty years, along with all the other lives I’d ruin, I would kill Vancha too. It seemed impossible. It sounded like a sick joke. But Evanna and Mr. Tall both had the gift of reading the future — and both had told me the same thing.
“Let me get this straight,” Vancha growled, breaking the silence and disrupting my train of thought. “No matter what happens between us and Steve Leonard — or in the war with the vampaneze — a Lord of the Shadows is going to come along and destroy the world?”
“Yes,” Mr. Tall said. “Humans are soon to lose control of this planet. The reins of power will be handed over. This is written. What remains to be seen is whether the reins pass to a vampaneze or . . . to a vampire.” He didn’t look at me when he said that. It might have been my imagination, but I got the feeling he had deliberately avoided making eye contact with me.
“But regardless of who wins, I’m for the chop?” Vancha pressed.
“Yes.” Mr. Tall smiled. “But do not fear death, Vancha, for it comes for us all.” His smile dimmed. “For some of us, it comes very soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Vancha snapped. “You’re not part of this. No vampire or vampaneze would raise a hand against you.”
“That might be true,” Mr. Tall chuckled, “but there are others in this world who do not hold me in such high esteem.” He cocked his head sideways and his expression mellowed. “And to prove my point . . .”
A woman screamed. We all sprang to our feet and rushed to the door, except Mr. Tall, who slowly rose behind us.
Alice was the first to the door. Flinging it open, she dived out, drew a gun, rolled when she hit the ground, then came to her knees. Vancha was next. He leapt out, pulling a couple of shurikens free, jumping high to launch them from a height if he had to. I was third. I had no weapons, so I sprang over to where Alice was, guessing she’d be able to supply me with something. Harkat and Debbie moved at the same time, Harkat brandishing his axe, Debbie pulling a pistol like Alice’s. Behind them, Mr. Tall stood in the doorway, gazing up at the sky. Then he stepped down.
There was nobody in sight, but we heard another scream, this time a child’s. Then a man gave a shout of panic — it was Evra.
“A weapon!” I yelled at Alice as she got to her feet. With one hand she reached down and produced a short hunting knife from a pouch on her left leg.
“Stay behind me,” Alice commanded, homing in on the screams. “Vancha to my left, Debbie and Harkat to my right.”
We obeyed the ex–chief inspector, fanned out, and advanced. I could sense Mr. Tall following, but I didn’t look back.
A woman screamed again — Merla, Evra’s wife. People spilled out of the caravans and tents around us, performers and staff, eager to help. Mr. Tall roared at them to keep out of this. His voice was thunderous and they quickly bolted back inside. I glanced over my shoulder, stunned by his fierceness. He smiled apologetically. “This is our fight, not theirs,” he said by way of explanation.
The “our” surprised me — was Mr. Tall finally abandoning his neutrality? — but I didn’t have time to dwell upon it. Ahead of me, Alice had cleared the end of a tent and come into sight of the disturbance. A second later, I was on the scene too.
The Vons — except Lilia, who wasn’t present — were under attack. Their assailants — R.V., Morgan James, and Steve Leopard’s son, Darius! R.V. had killed Evra’s snake and was in the process of chopping up Shancus’s. Evra was fighting with the hook-handed madman, trying to drag him off. Shancus was in a wrestling lock with Darius. Merla had hold of Urcha, who was gripping his snake for dear life, sobbing pitifully. They were backing away from Morgan James. He was following slowly, smiling a jagged half-faced smile, red circles of blood highlighting his evil little eyes. The nose of his rifle was aimed at Merla’s stomach.
Vancha reacted quickest. He sent a shuriken flying at Morgan James’s rifle, knocking it off target. James’s finger tightened on the trigger at the contact and the rifle exploded — but the bullet shot wide. Before he could fire again, Merla released Urcha, ripped her right ear loose, and sent it flying at James’s face. The ear struck him between the eyes and he fell back, grunting with surprise.
Alerted to our presence, R.V. knocked Evra out of the way and dove after Shancus. He grabbed him from Darius and held him up, laughing, daring us to risk the snake-boy’s life.
“I don’t have a clear shot!” Alice yelled.
“I’ve got Morgan James covered!” Debbie shouted back.
“Then take him out!” Alice roared.
“The boy dies if you hurt Morgan!” R.V. retorted, pressing the three blades of his hooked left hand up into the scaly flesh of Shancus’s throat. Shancus either didn’t realize the danger he was in, or didn’t care, because he kept kicking and punching R.V. But we saw the killer’s intent and paused.
“Let him go, Hooky,” Vancha snarled, moving ahead of the rest of us, hands spread wide. “I’ll fight you man to man.”
“You’re no man,” R.V. replied scornfully. “You’re scum like all your race. Morgan! Are you OK?”
“Uh’m fuhn,” Morgan James groaned. He picked up his rifle and aimed it at Merla again.
“Not this time!” Harkat shouted, stepping in front of Merla and swinging at James with his axe. James leapt clear of the deadly blade. Across from him, Darius drew a small arrow-gun and fired at Harkat. But he fired too hastily and the arrow flew high of its mark.
I threw myself at Darius, meaning to grab and hold him, as R.V. was holding Shancus. But Shancus’s snake was thrashing wildly in its death throes, and I tripped over it before I could bring my hands together around Darius’s throat. Flying forward, I crashed into Evra, who was rushing to his son’s aid. We both fell over, wrapped in the dying snake’s coils.
During the confusion, Morgan James and Darius regrouped around R.V.
Alice, Debbie, Harkat, and Vancha hung back, unable to pursue them for fear that R.V. would kill Shancus.
“Let him go!” Merla screamed, eyes filled with tears of desperation.
“Make me!” R.V. jeered.
“You can’t get out of here,” Vancha said as R.V. backed away.
“Who’s going to stop us?” R.V. mocked him. Evra was back on his feet and he made to run after the retreating trio. R.V. dug his hooks deeper into Shancus’s throat. “No you don’t!” he sang, and Evra froze.
“Please,” Debbie said, lowering her pistol. “Release the boy and we’ll let you leave unharmed.”
“You’re in no position to make deals,” R.V. laughed.
“What do you want?” I shouted.
“The snake-boy,” R.V. giggled.
“He’s no good to you.” I took a determined step forward. “Take me instead. I’ll swap for Shancus.”
I expected R.V. to leap at my offer, but he only shook his head slyly, red eyes shining. “Stuff it, Shan,” he said. “We’re taking the boy. If you get in our way, he dies.”
I glanced around at my allies — nobody was reacting. The vampaneze had us in a bind. Vancha could move with the speed of a full-vampire, and Debbie and
Alice both had guns. But R.V. could kill Shancus before any of us could stop him.
R.V., Morgan James, and Darius continued to back away. R.V. and James were grinning, but Darius looked the same way he’d looked after shooting me — scared and slightly sickened.
Then, as the rest of us hesitated, Mr. Tall spoke. “I cannot allow this.”
R.V. paused uncertainly. “This is none of your business!” he shouted. “Keep your nose out of it.”
“You have made it my business,” Mr. Tall disagreed quietly. “This is my home. These are my people. I must intervene.”
�
�Don’t be a —” R.V. yelled, but before he got any further, Mr. Tall was upon him. He moved at a supernatural speed that even a vampire couldn’t match. In less than a flash of an eye he was in front of R.V., his hands on the lunatic’s hooks. He wrenched them away from Shancus’s throat, tearing two of the hooks off the left hand, and one off the right.
“My hands!” R.V. screamed in agony, as though the gold and silver hooks were part of his flesh. “Leave my hands alone, you —”
Whatever foul name he shouted was lost in the burst of a gun retort. Morgan James, who’d been standing next to R.V., had jammed the tip of his rifle hard into Mr. Tall’s ribs and pulled the trigger. A bullet fired down the chamber of the rifle at a merciless speed — then ripped through the rib cage of the defenseless Hibernius Tall!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MR. TALL’S MIDRIFF ERUPTED in a fountain of dark red blood and white chips of bone. For a moment he stood, gripping R.V.’s hooks, as though nothing had happened. Then he collapsed, blood pumping out of the hole, his stomach torn to shreds.
R.V. and Darius stared numbly at Mr. Tall as he fell. Then Morgan James screamed at them to run. In a ragged unit they fled, R.V. clutching Shancus, James firing wildly at us over his shoulder.
Nobody followed. Our eyes were all on Mr. Tall. He was blinking rapidly, hands exploring the hole in his middle, lips torn back over his small black teeth. I don’t think anybody knew how old Mr. Tall was, or where he’d come from. But he was older than any vampire, a being of immense magic and power. It was mind-boggling to think that he could have been brought low in so simple and violent a manner.
Debbie snapped to her senses first and rushed towards Mr. Tall, dropping her pistol, meaning to go to his aid. The rest of us took a step after her —
— and stopped instantly when somebody spoke from the shadows of a nearby van. “Your concern is commendable, but utterly worthless. Keep back, please.”