Tunnels of Blood

TUNNELS OF BLOOD

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 3

TUNNELS OF BLOOD

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 3

Madam Octa’s on the Web… and so is Darren Shan!

For all things freaky, check out the official

Darren Shan website at www.darrenshan.com

For:

Declan – the original “mr happy”

OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Jo “the jaguar” Williamson

Zoë “ze zombie” Clarke

The usual monsters:

Liam “Frankenstein” and Biddy “The Bride”

Gillie “rip yer guts out” Russell

the hungry HarperCollins cannibals

and

Emma & Chris – “who ya gonna call?”

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan

Copyright

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

THE SMELL of blood is sickening. Hundreds of carcasses hang from silver hooks, stiff, shiny with frosty blood. I know they’re just animals – cows, pigs, sheep – but I keep thinking they’re human.

I take a careful step forward. Powerful overhead lights mean it’s bright as day. I have to tread easily. Hide behind the dead animals. Move slowly. The floor’s slippery with water and blood, which makes progress even trickier.

Ahead, I spot him… the vampire… Mr Crepsley. He’s moving as quietly as I am, eyes focused on the fat man a little way ahead.

The fat man. He’s why I’m here in this ice-cold abattoir. He’s the human Mr Crepsley intends to kill. He’s the man I have to save.

The fat man pauses and checks one of the hanging slabs of meat. His cheeks are chubby and red. He’s wearing clear plastic gloves. He pats the dead animal – the squeaky noise of the hook as the carcass swings sets my teeth on edge – then begins whistling. He starts to walk again. Mr Crepsley follows. So do I.

Evra is somewhere far behind. I left him outside. No point the two of us risking our lives.

I pick up speed, moving slowly closer. Neither knows I’m here. If everything works out as planned, they won’t know, not until Mr Crepsley makes his move. Not until I’m forced to act.

The fat man stops again. Bends to examine something. I take a quick step back, afraid he’ll spot me but then I see Mr Crepsley closing in. Damn! No time to hide. If this is the moment he’s chosen to attack, I have to get nearer.

I sprint forward several metres, risking being heard. Luckily Mr Crepsley is entirely focused on the fat man.

I’m only three or four metres behind the vampire now. I bring up the long butcher’s knife which I’ve been holding down by my side. My eyes are glued to Mr Crepsley. I won’t act until he does – I’ll give him every chance to prove my terrible suspicions wrong – but the second I see him tensing to spring…

I take a firmer grip on the knife. I’ve been practising my swipe all day. I know the exact point I want to hit. One quick cut across Mr Crepsley’s throat and that’ll be that. No more vampire. One more carcass to add to the pile.

Long seconds slip by. I don’t dare look to see what the fat man is studying. Is he never going to rise?

Then it happens. The fat man struggles to his feet. Mr Crepsley hisses. He gets ready to lunge. I position the knife and steady my nerves. The fat man’s on his feet now. He hears something. Looks up at the ceiling – wrong way, fool! – as Mr Crepsley leaps. As the vampire jumps, so do I, screeching loudly, slashing at him with the knife, determined to kill…

CHAPTER ONE

One month earlier…

MY NAME’S Darren Shan. I’m a half-vampire.

I used to be human, until I stole a vampire’s spider. After that, my life changed for ever. Mr Crepsley – the vampire – forced me to become his assistant, and I joined a circus full of weird performers, called the Cirque Du Freak.

Adapting was hard. Drinking blood was harder, and for a long time I wouldn’t do it. Eventually I did, to save the memories of a dying friend (vampires can store a person’s memories if they drain all their blood). I didn’t enjoy it – the following few weeks were horrible, and I was plagued by nightmares – but after that first blood-red drink there could be no going back. I accepted my role as a vampire’s assistant and learnt to make the best of it.

Over the course of the next year Mr Crepsley taught me how to hunt and drink without being caught; how to take just enough blood to survive; how to hide my vampire identity when mixing with others. And in time I put my human fears behind me and became a true creature of the night.

A couple of girls stood watching Cormac Limbs with serious expressions. He was stretching his arms and legs, rolling his neck around, loosening his muscles. Then, winking at the girls, he put the middle three fingers of his right hand between his teeth and bit them off.

The girls screamed and fled. Cormac chuckled and wriggled the new fingers which were growing out of his hand.

I laughed. You got used to stuff like that when you worked in the Cirque Du Freak. The travelling show was full of remarkable people, freaks of nature with wonderful and sometimes frightening powers.

Apart from Cormac Limbs, the performers included Rhamus Twobellies, capable of eating a full-grown elephant or a tank; Gertha Teeth, who could bite through steel; the Wolf Man, half-man half-wolf, who’d killed my friend Sam Grest; Truska, a beautiful and mysterious woman, who could grow a beard at will; and Mr Tall, who could move as fast as lightning and seemed to be able to read people’s minds. Mr Tall owned and managed the Cirque Du Freak.

We were performing in a small town, camped behind an old mill, inside which the show was staged every night. It was a run-down tip, but I was used to such venues. We could have played the grandest theatres in the world and slept in luxurious hotel rooms – the Cirque made a load of money – but it was safer to keep a low profile and stick to places where the police and other officials rarely wandered.

I hadn’t changed much since leaving home with Mr Crepsley nearly a year and a half before. Because I was a half-vampire I aged at only a fifth the rate of humans, which meant that though eighteen months had passed, my body was only three or four months older.

Although I wasn’t very different on the outside, inside I was an entirely new person. I was stronger than any boy my age, able to run faster, leap further, and dig my extra-strong nails into brick walls. My hearing, eyesight and sense of smell had improved vastly.

Since I wasn’t a full-vampire, there was lots of stuff I couldn’t do yet. For instance, Mr Crepsley could run at a super-quick speed, which he called flitting. He could breathe out a gas which knocked people unconscious. And he could communicate telepathically with vampires and a few others, such as Mr Tall.

I wouldn’t be able to do those things until I became a full-vampire. I didn’t lose any sleep over it, because being a half-vampire had its bonuses: I didn’t have to drink much human blood and – better yet – I could move about during the day.

It was day when I was exploring a rubbish tip with Evra, the snake-boy, looking for food for the Little People – weird small creatures who wore blue hooded cloaks and never spoke. Nobody – except maybe Mr Tall – knew who or what they were, where they came from, or why they travelled with the Cirque. Their master was a disturbing man called Mr Tiny (he liked to eat children!), but we didn’t see much of him at the Cirque.

“Found a dead dog,” Evra shouted, holding it above his head. “It smells a bit. Do you think they’ll mind?”

I sniffed the air – Evra was a long way off, but I could smell the dog from here as well as a human could up close – and shook my head. “It’ll be fine,” I said. The Little People ate just about anything we brought.

I had a fox and a few rats in my bag. I felt bad about killing the rats – rats are friendly with vampires and usually come up to us like tame pets if we call them – but work is work. We’ve all got to do things we don’t like in life.

There were lots of Little People with the Cirque – twenty of them – and one was hunting with Evra and me. He’d been with the Cirque since soon after me and Mr Crepsley joined. I could tell him apart from the others because he had a limp in his left leg. Evra and me had taken to calling him Lefty.

“Hey, Lefty!” I shouted. “How’s it going?” The small figure in the blue hooded cloak didn’t answer – he never did – but patted his stomach, which was the sign we needed more food.

“Lefty says to keep going,” I told Evra.

“I figured as much,” he sighed.

As I prowled for another rat, I spotted a small silver cross in the rubbish. I picked it up and brushed off the dirt. Studying the cross, I smiled. To think I used to believe vampires were terrified of crosses! Most of that stuff in old films and books is hokum. Crosses, holy water, garlic: none of those matter to vampires. We can cross running water. We don’t have to be invited into a house before entering. We cast shadows and reflections (though a full-vampire can’t be photographed: something to do with bouncing atoms). We can’t change shape or fly.

A stake through the heart will kill a vampire. But so will a well-placed bullet, or fire, or a falling heavy object. We’re harder to kill than humans but we aren’t immortal. Far from it.

I placed the cross on the ground and stood back. Focusing my will, I tried making it jump into my left hand. I stared hard for all of a minute, then clicked the fingers of my right hand.

Nothing happened.

I tried again but still couldn’t do it. I’d been trying for months, with no success. Mr Crepsley made it look simple – one click of his fingers and an object would be in his hand, even if it was several metres away – but I hadn’t been able to copy him.

I was getting on quite well with Mr Crepsley. He wasn’t a bad old sort. We weren’t friends, but I’d accepted him as a teacher and no longer hated him as I had when he first turned me into a half-vampire.

I pocketed the cross, and proceeded with the hunt. After a while I found a half-starved cat in the remains of an old microwave oven. It was after rats as well.

The cat hissed at me and raised its hackles. I pretended to turn my back on it, then spun quickly, grabbed it by the neck and twisted. It gave a strangled little cry and then went limp. I stuck it in the bag and went to see how Evra was doing.

I didn’t enjoy killing animals, but hunting was part of my nature. Anyway, I had no sympathy for cats. The blood of cats is poisonous to vampires. Drinking from one wouldn’t have killed me but it would have made me sick. And cats are hunters too. The way I saw it, the less cats there were, the more rats there’d be.

That night, back in camp, I tried moving the cross with my mind again. I’d completed my jobs for the day, and the show wouldn’t be starting for another few hours, so I’d plenty of time to kill.

It was a cold, late-November night. There hadn’t been any snow yet, but it was threatening. I was dressed in my colourful pirate costume: a light green shirt, dark purple trousers, a gold and blue jacket, a red satin cloth round my belly, a brown hat with a feather in it, and soft shoes with toes that curled in on themselves.

I strolled away from the vans and tents and found a secluded spot around the side of the old mill. I stuck the cross on a piece of wood in front of me, took a deep breath, concentrated on the cross and willed it into the palm of my outstretched hand.

No good.

I shuffled closer, so my hand was only centimetres away from the cross.

“I command you to move,” I said, clicking my fingers. “I order you to move.” Click. “Move.” Click. “Move!”

I shouted this last word louder than intended and stamped my foot in anger.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked behind me.

Looking up, I saw Mr Crepsley emerging out of the shadows.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to hide the cross.

“What is that?” he asked. His eyes missed nothing.

“Just a cross I found while hunting,” I said, holding it out.

“What were you doing with it?” Mr Crepsley asked suspiciously.

“Trying to make it move,” I said, deciding it was time to ask the vampire about his magic secrets. “How do you do it?”

A smile spread across his face, causing the long scar that ran down the left side to crinkle. “So that is what has been bothering you,” he chuckled. He stretched out a hand and clicked his fingers, causing me to blink. Next thing I knew, the cross was in his hand.

“How’s it done?” I asked. “Can only full-vampires do it?”

“I will demonstrate again. Watch closely this time.”

Replacing the cross on the piece of wood, he stood back and clicked his fingers. Once again it disappeared and turned up in his hand. “Did you see?”

“See what?” I was confused.

“One final time,” he said. “Try not to blink.”

I focused on the small silver piece. I heard his fingers clicking and – keeping my eyes wide open – thought I spotted the slightest blur darting between me and the cross.

When I turned to look at him he was tossing the cross from hand to hand and smiling. “Rumbled me yet?” he asked.

I frowned. “I thought I saw… It looked like…” My face lit up. “You didn’t move the cross!” I yelled excitedly. “You moved!”

He beamed. “Not as dull as you appear,” he complimented me in his usual sarcastic manner.

“Do it again,” I said. This time I didn’t look at the cross: I watched the vampire. I wasn’t able to track his movements – he was too fast – but I caught brief snaps of him as he darted forward, snatched up the cross and leapt back.

“So you’re not able to move things with your mind?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he laughed.

“Then why the click of the fingers?”

“To distract the eye,” he explained.

“Then it’s a trick,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with being a vampire.”

He shrugged. “I could not move so fast if I were human, but yes, it is a trick. I dabbled with illusions before I became a vampire and I like to keep my hand in.”

“Could I learn to do it?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “You cannot move as fast as I can, but you could get away with it if the object was close to hand. You would have to practise hard – but if you wish, I can teach you.”

“I always wanted to be a magician,” I said. “But… hold on…” I remembered a couple of occasions when Mr Crepsley had opened locks with a click of his fingers. “What about locks?” I asked.

“Those are different. You understand what static energy is?” My face was a blank. “Have you ever brushed a comb through your hair and held it up to a thin sheet of paper?”

“Yeah!” I said. “The paper sticks to it.”

“That is static energy,” he explained. “When a vampire flits, a very strong static charge builds up. I have learned to harness that charge. Thus I am able to force open any lock you care to mention.”

I thought about that. “And the click of your fingers?” I asked.

“Old habits die hard,” he smiled.

“But old vampires die easy!” a voice growled behind us, and before I knew what was happening, someone had reached around the two of us and pressed a pair of razor-sharp knives to the soft flesh of our throats!

CHAPTER TWO

I FROZE at the touch of the blade and the threatening voice, but Mr Crepsley didn’t even blink. He gently pushed the knife away from his throat, then tossed the silver cross to me.

“Gavner, Gavner, Gavner,” Mr Crepsley sighed. “I always could hear you coming from half a mile away.”

“Not true!” the voice said peevishly, as the blade drew back from my throat. “You couldn’t have heard.”

“Why not?” Mr Crepsley said. “Nobody in the world breathes as heavily as you. I could pick you out blindfolded in a crowd of thousands.”

“One night, Larten,” the stranger muttered. “One night I’ll catch you out. We’ll see how smart you are then.”

“Upon that night I shall retire disgracefully,” Mr Crepsley chuckled.

Mr Crepsley cocked an eyebrow at me, amused to see I was still stiff and half-afraid, even though I’d figured out our lives weren’t in danger.

“Shame on you, Gavner Purl,” Mr Crepsley said. “You have frightened the boy.”

“Seems all I’m good for,” the stranger grunted. “Scaring children and little old ladies.”

Turning slowly, I came face to face with the man called Gavner Purl. He wasn’t very tall but he was wide, built like a wrestler. His face was a mass of scars and dark patches, and the rims around his eyes were extremely black. His brown hair was cut short and he was dressed in an ordinary pair of jeans and a baggy white jumper. He had a broad smile and glittering yellow teeth.

It was only when I glanced down at his fingertips and spotted ten scars that I realized he was a vampire. That’s how most vampires are created: vampire blood is pumped into them through the soft flesh at the ends of their fingers.

“Darren, this is Gavner Purl,” Mr Crepsley introduced us. “An old, trusted, rather clumsy friend. Gavner, this is Darren Shan.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the vampire said, shaking my hand. “You didn’t hear me coming, did you?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

“There!” he boomed proudly. “See?”

“Congratulations,” Mr Crepsley said dryly. “If you are ever called upon to sneak into a nursery, you should have no problems.”

Gavner grimaced. “I see time hasn’t sweetened you,” he noted. “As cutting as ever. How long has it been? Fourteen years? Fifteen?”

“Seventeen next February,” Mr Crepsley answered promptly.

“Seventeen!” Gavner whistled. “Longer than I thought. Seventeen years and as sour as ever.” He nudged me in the ribs. “Does he still complain like a grumpy old woman when he wakes up?” he asked.

“Yes,” I giggled.

“I could never get a positive word out of him until midnight. I had to share a coffin with him once for four whole months.” He shivered at the memory. “Longest four months of my life.”

“You shared a coffin?” I asked incredulously.

“Had to,” he said. “We were being hunted. We had to stick together. I wouldn’t do it again though. I’d rather face the sun and burn.”

“You were not the only one with cause for complaint,” Mr Crepsley grunted. “Your snoring nearly drove me to face the sun myself.” His lips were twitching and I could tell he was having a hard time not smiling.

“Why were you being hunted?” I asked curiously.

“Never mind,” Mr Crepsley snapped before Gavner could answer, then glared at his ex-partner.

Gavner pulled a face. “It was nearly sixty years ago, Larten,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was classified information.”

“The boy is not interested in the past,” Mr Crepsley said firmly. (I most certainly was!) “You are on my soil, Gavner Purl. I would ask you to respect my wishes.”

“Stuffy old bat,” Gavner grumbled, but gave in with a nod of his head. “So, Darren,” he said, “what do you do at the Cirque Du Freak?”

“Odd jobs,” I told him. “I fetch food for the Little People and help the performers get ready for—”

“The Little People still travel with the Cirque?” Gavner interrupted.

“More of them than ever,” Mr Crepsley answered. “There are twenty with us at the moment.”

The vampires shared a knowing glance but said no more about it. I could tell Gavner was troubled by the way his scars knit together into a fierce-looking frown.

“How goes it with the Generals?” Mr Crepsley enquired.

“Usual old routine,” Gavner said.

“Gavner is a Vampire General,” Mr Crepsley told me. That sparked my interest. I’d heard of the Vampire Generals, but nobody had told me exactly who or what they were.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s a Vampire General? What do they do?”

“We keep an eye on rogues like this,” Gavner laughed, nudging Mr Crepsley. “We make sure they don’t get up to mischief.”

“The Vampire Generals monitor the behavior of the vampire clan,” Mr Crepsley added. “They make sure none of us kill innocents or use our powers for evil.”

“How do they do that?” I asked.

“If they discover a vampire who has turned bad,” Mr Crepsley said, “they kill him.”

“Oh.” I stared at Gavner Purl. He didn’t look like a killer, but then again, there were all those scars…

“It’s a boring job most of the time,” Gavner said. “I’m more like a village policeman than a soldier. I never did like the term ‘Vampire Generals’. Far too pompous.”

“It is not just evil vampires that Generals clamp down on,” Mr Crepsley said. “It is also their business to crack down on foolish or weak vampires.” He sighed. “I have been expecting this visit. Shall we retire to my tent, Gavner, to discuss the matter?”

“You’ve been expecting me?” Gavner looked startled.

“Word was bound to leak out sooner or later,” Mr Crepsley said. “I have made no attempt to hide the boy or suppress the truth. Note that please: I will use it during my trial, when I am called upon to defend myself.”

“Trial? Truth? The boy?” Gavner was bewildered. Glancing down at my hands, he spotted the vampire marks on my fingertips and his jaw dropped. “The boy’s a vampire?” he shrieked.

“Of course.” Mr Crepsley frowned. “But surely you knew.”

“I knew nothing of the sort!” Gavner protested. He looked into my eyes and concentrated hard. “The blood is weak in him,” he mused aloud. “He is only a half-vampire.”

“Naturally,” Mr Crepsley said. “It is not our custom to make full-vampires of our assistants.”

“Nor to make assistants of children!” Gavner Purl snapped, sounding more authoritative than he had before. “What were you thinking?” he asked Mr Crepsley. “A boy! When did this happen? Why haven’t you informed anybody?”

“It has been nearly a year and a half since I blooded Darren,” Mr Crepsley said. “Why I did it is a long story. As for why I have not yet told anyone, that is simpler to answer: you are the first of our kind we have encountered. I would have taken him to the next Council if I had not run into a General beforehand. Now that will not be necessary.”