Allies of the Night

Mr Crepsley shot out of bed as though he’d been bitten. “How can this be?” he snapped. He rushed to the door, stopped, then retreated slowly. “How did he identify himself?”

“Just told me his name — Mr Blaws.”

“It could be a cover story.”

“I don’t think so. The manager of the hotel was with him. He wouldn’t have let him up if he wasn’t on the level. Besides, he looks like a school inspector.”

“Looks can be deceptive,” Mr Crepsley noted.

“Not this time,” I said. “You’d better get dressed and come meet him.”

The vampire hesitated, then nodded sharply. I left him to prepare, and went to close the curtains in my room. Mr Blaws looked at me oddly. “My father’s eyes are very sensitive,” I said. “That’s why he prefers to work at night.”

“Ah,” Mr Blaws said. “Excellent.”

We said nothing more for the next few minutes, while we waited for my ‘father’ to make his entrance. I felt very uncomfortable, sitting in silence with this stranger, but he acted as though he felt perfectly at home. When Mr Crepsley finally entered, Mr Blaws stood and shook his hand, not letting go of the briefcase. “Mr Horston,” the inspector beamed. “A pleasure, sir.”

“Likewise.” Mr Crepsley smiled briefly, then sat as far away from the curtains as he could and drew his red robes tightly around himself.

“So!” Mr Blaws boomed after a short silence. “What’s wrong with our young trooper?”

“Wrong?” Mr Crepsley blinked. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Then why isn’t he at school with all the other boys and girls?”

“Darren does not go to school,” Mr Crepsley said, as though speaking to an idiot. “Why should he?”

Mr Blaws was taken aback. “Why, to learn, Mr Horston, the same as any other fifteen year old.”

“Darren is not…” Mr Crepsley stopped. “How do you know his age?” he asked cagily.

“From his birth certificate, of course,” Mr Blaws laughed.

Mr Crepsley glanced at me for an answer, but I was as lost as he was, and could only shrug helplessly. “And how did you acquire that?” the vampire asked.

Mr Blaws looked at us strangely. “You included it with the rest of the relevant forms when you enrolled him at Mahler’s,” he said.

“Mahler’s?” Mr Crepsley repeated.

“The school you chose to send Darren to.”

Mr Crepsley sank back in his chair and brooded on that. Then he asked to see the birth certificate, along with the other ‘relevant forms’. Mr Blaws reached into his briefcase again and fished out a folder. “There you go,” he said. “Birth certificate, records from his previous school, medical certificates, the enrolment form you filled in. Everything present and correct.”

Mr Crepsley opened the file, flicked through a few sheets, studied the signatures at the bottom of one form, then passed the file across to me. “Look through those papers,” he said. “Check that the information is … correct.”

It wasn’t correct, of course – I wasn’t fifteen and hadn’t been to school recently; nor had I visited a doctor since joining the ranks of the undead – but it was fully detailed. The files built up a complete picture of a fifteen-year-old boy called Darren Horston, who’d moved to this city during the summer with his father, a man who worked night shifts in a local abattoir and…

My breath caught in my throat — the abattoir was the one where we’d first encountered the mad vampaneze, Murlough, thirteen years ago! “Look at this!” I gasped, holding the form out to Mr Crepsley, but he waved it away.

“Is it accurate?” he asked.

“Of course it’s accurate,” Mr Blaws answered. “You filled in the forms yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you?”

“Of course he did,” I said quickly, before Mr Crepsley could reply. “Sorry to act so befuddled. It’s been a hard week. Um. Family problems.”

“Ah. That’s why you haven’t shown up at Mahler’s?”

“Yes.” I forced a shaky smile. “We should have rung and informed you. Sorry. Didn’t think.”

“No problem,” Mr Blaws said, taking the papers back. “I’m glad that’s all it was. We were afraid something bad had happened to you.”

“No,” I said, shooting Mr Crepsley a look that said, ‘play ball’. “Nothing bad happened.”

“Excellent. Then you’ll be in on Monday?”

“Monday?”

“Hardly seems worth while coming in tomorrow, what with it being the end of the week. Come early Monday morning and we’ll sort you out with a timetable and show you around. Ask for–”

“Excuse me,” Mr Crepsley interrupted, “but Darren will not be going to your school on Monday or any other day.”

“Oh?” Mr Blaws frowned and gently closed the lid of his briefcase. “Has he enrolled at another school?”

“No. Darren does not need to go to school. I educate him.”

“Really? There was no mention in the forms of your being a qualified teacher.”

“I am not a–”

“And of course,” Blaws went on, “we both know that only a qualified teacher can educate a child at home.” He smiled like a shark. “Don’t we?”

Mr Crepsley didn’t know what to say. He had no experience of the modern educational system. When he was a boy, parents could do what they liked with their children. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“Mr Blaws?”

“Yes, Darren?”

“What would happen if I didn’t turn up at Mahler’s?”

He sniffed snootily. “If you enrol at a different school and pass on the paperwork to me, everything will be fine.”

“And if – for the sake of argument – I didn’t enrol at another school?”

Mr Blaws laughed. “Everyone has to go to school. Once you turn sixteen, your time is your own, but for the next…” He opened the briefcase again and checked his files “…seven months, you must go to school.”

“So if I chose not to go…?”

“We’d send a social worker to see what the problem was.”

“And if we asked you to tear up my enrolment form and forget about me – if we said we’d sent it to you by mistake – what then?”

Mr Blaws drummed his fingers on the top of his bowler hat. He wasn’t used to such bizarre questions and didn’t know what to make of us. “We can’t go around tearing up official forms, Darren,” he chuckled uneasily.

“But if we’d sent them by accident and wanted to withdraw them?”

He shook his head firmly. “We weren’t aware of your existence before you contacted us, but now that we are, we’re responsible for you. We’d have to chase you up if we thought you weren’t getting a proper education.”

“Meaning you’d send social workers after us?”

“Social workers first,” he agreed, then looked at us with a glint in his eye. “Of course, if you gave them a hard time, we’d have to call in the police next, and who knows where it would end.”

I took that information on board, nodded grimly, then faced Mr Crepsley. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He stared back uncertainly. “You’ll have to start making packed lunches for me!”

CHAPTER THREE

“MEDDLING, SMUG, stupid little…” Mr Crepsley snarled. He was pacing the hotel room, cursing the name of Mr Blaws. The school inspector had left and Harkat had rejoined us. He’d heard everything through the thin connecting door, but could make no more sense of it than us. “I will track him down tonight and bleed him dry,” Mr Crepsley vowed. “That will teach him not to come poking his nose in!”

“Talk like that won’t fix this,” I sighed. “We have to use our heads.”

“Who says it is talk?” Mr Crepsley retorted. “He gave us his telephone number in case we need to contact him. I will find his address and–”

“It’s a mobile phone,” I sighed. “You can’t trace addresses through them. Besides, what good would killing him do? Somebody else would replace him. Our records are on file. He’s only the messenger.”

“We could move,” Harkat suggested. “Find a new hotel.”

“No,” Mr Crepsley said. “He has seen our faces and would broadcast our descriptions. It would make matters more complicated than they already are.”

“What I want to know is how our records were submitted,” I said. “The signatures on the files weren’t ours, but they were pretty damn close.”

“I know,” he grunted. “Not a great forgery, but adequate.”

“Is it possible there’s been … a mix-up?” Harkat asked. “Perhaps a real Vur Horston and his son … sent in the forms, and you’ve been confused with them.”

“No,” I said. “The address of this hotel was included and so were our room numbers. And…” I told them about the abattoir.

Mr Crepsley stopped pacing. “Murlough!” he hissed. “That was a period of history I thought I would never have to revisit.”

“I don’t understand,” Harkat said. “How could this be connected to Murlough? Are you saying he’s alive and has … set you up?”

“No,” Mr Crepsley said. “Murlough is definitely dead. But someone must know we killed him. And that someone is almost certainly responsible for the humans who have been killed recently.” He sat down and rubbed the long scar that marked the left side of his face. “This is a trap.”

There was a long, tense silence.

“It can’t be,” I said in the end. “How could the vampaneze have found out about Murlough?”

“Desmond Tiny,” Mr Crepsley said bleakly. “He knew about our run in with Murlough, and must have told the vampaneze. But I cannot understand why they faked the birth certificate and school records. If they knew so much about us, and where we are, they should have killed us cleanly and honourably, as is the vampaneze way.”

“That’s true,” I noted. “You don’t punish a murderer by sending him to school. Although,” I added, remembering my long-ago schooldays, “death can sometimes seem preferable to double science on a Thursday afternoon…”

Again a lengthy silence descended. Harkat broke it by clearing his throat. “This sounds crazy,” the Little Person said, “but what if Mr Crepsley did … submit the forms?”

“Come again?” I said.

“He might have done it in … his sleep.”

“You think he sleep wrote a birth cert and school records, then submitted them to a local school?” I didn’t even bother to laugh.

“Things like this have happened before,” Harkat mumbled. “Remember Pasta O’Malley at the … Cirque Du Freak? He read books at night when he was asleep. He could never recall reading them, but if you asked … him about them, he could answer all your questions.”

“I’d forgotten about Pasta,” I muttered, giving Harkat’s proposal some thought.

“I could not have filled in those forms,” Mr Crepsley said stiffly.

“It’s unlikely,” Harkat agreed, “but we do strange things … when we sleep. Perhaps you–”

“No,” Mr Crepsley interrupted. “You do not understand. I could not have done it because…” He looked away sheepishly. “I cannot read or write.”

The vampire might have had two heads, the way Harkat and me gawped at him.

“Of course you can read and write!” I bellowed. “You signed your name when we checked in.”

“Signing one’s name is an easy feat,” he replied quietly, with wounded dignity. “I can read numbers and recognize certain words – I am able to read maps quite accurately – but as for genuine reading and writing…” He shook his head.

“How can you not be able to read or write?” I asked ignorantly.

“Things were different when I was young. The world was simpler. It was not necessary to be a master of the written word. I was the fifth child of a poor family and went to work at the age of eight.”

“But … but…” I pointed a finger at him. “You told me you love Shakespeare’s plays and poems!”

“I do,” he said. “Evanna read all his works to me over the decades. Wordsworth, Keats, Joyce — many others. I often meant to learn to read for myself, but I never got around to it.”

“This is … I don’t … Why didn’t you tell me?” I snapped. “We’ve been together fifteen years, and this is the first time you’ve mentioned it!”

He shrugged. “I assumed you knew. Many vampires are illiterate. That is why so little of our history or laws is written down — most of us are incapable of reading.”

Shaking my head, exasperated, I put aside the vampire’s revelation and concentrated on the more immediate problem. “You didn’t fill out the forms — that’s settled. So who did and what are we going to do about it?”

Mr Crepsley had no answer to that, but Harkat had a suggestion. “It could have been Mr Tiny,” he said. “He loves to stir things up. Perhaps this is his idea … of a joke.”

We mulled that one over.

“It has a whiff of him about it,” I agreed. “I can’t see why he’d want to send me back to school, but it’s the sort of trick I can imagine him pulling.”

“Mr Tiny would appear to be the most logical culprit,” Mr Crepsley said. “Vampaneze are not known for their sense of humour. Nor do they go in for intricate plots — like vampires, they are simple and direct.”

“Let’s say he is behind it,” I mused. “That still leaves us with the problem of what to do. Should I report for class Monday morning? Or do we ignore Mr Blaws’ warning and carry on as before?”

“I would rather not send you,” Mr Crepsley said. “There is strength in unity. At present, we are well prepared to defend ourselves should we come under attack. With you at school, we would not be there to help you if you ran into trouble, and you would not be able to help us if our foes struck here.”

“But if I don’t go,” I noted, “we’ll have school inspectors – and worse – dogging our heels.”

“The other option is to leave,” Harkat said. “Just pack our bags and go.”

“That is worth considering,” Mr Crepsley agreed. “I do not like the idea of leaving these people to suffer, but if this is a trap designed to divide us, perhaps the killings will stop if we leave.”

“Or they might increase,” I said, “to tempt us back.”

We thought about it some more, weighing up the various options.

“I want to stay,” Harkat said eventually. “Life is getting more dangerous, but perhaps … that means we’re meant to be here. Maybe this city is where we’re destined … to lock horns with the Vampaneze Lord again.”

“I agree with Harkat,” Mr Crepsley said, “but this is a matter for Darren to decide. As a Prince, he must make the decision.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said sarcastically.

Mr Crepsley smiled. “It is your decision, not only because you are a Prince, but because this concerns you the most — you will have to mix with human children and teachers, and you will be the most vulnerable to attack. Whether this is a vampaneze trap or a whim of Mr Tiny’s, life will be hard for you if we stay.”

He was right. Going back to school would be a nightmare. I’d no idea what fifteen year olds studied. Classes would be hard. Homework would drive me loopy. And having to answer to teachers, after six years of lording it over the vampires as a Prince … It could get very uncomfortable.

Yet part of me was drawn to the notion. To sit in a classroom again, to learn, make friends, show off my advanced physical skills in PE, maybe go out with a few girls…

“The hell with it,” I grinned. “If it’s a trap, let’s call their bluff. If it’s a joke, we’ll show we know how to take it.”

“That is the spirit,” Mr Crepsley boomed.

“Besides,” I chuckled weakly, “I’ve endured the Trials of Initiation twice, a terrifying journey through an underground stream, encounters with killers, a bear and wild boars. How bad can school be?”

CHAPTER FOUR

I ARRIVED at Mahler’s an hour before classes began. I’d had a busy weekend. First there’d been my uniform to buy – a green jumper, light green shirt, green tie, grey trousers, black shoes – then books, notepaper and A4 writing pads, a ruler, pens and pencils, an eraser, set squares and a compass, as well as a scientific calculator, whose array of strange buttons – ‘INV’, ‘SIN’, ‘COS’, ‘EE’ – meant nothing to me. I’d also had to buy a homework report book, which I’d have to write all my homework assignments in — Mr Crepsley would have to sign the book each night, saying I’d done the work I was meant to.

I shopped by myself — Mr Crepsley couldn’t move about during the day, and Harkat’s strange appearance meant it was better for him to stay inside. I got back to the hotel with my bags late Saturday evening, after two days of non-stop shopping. Then I remembered that I’d need a schoolbag as well, so I rushed out on one last-gasp, lightning-fast expedition to the nearest supplier. I bought a simple black bag with plenty of space for my books, and picked up a plastic lunch box as well.

Mr Crepsley and Harkat got a great kick out of my uniform. The first time they saw me stuffed inside it, walking stiffly, they laughed for ten minutes. “Stop it!” I growled, tearing a shoe off and lobbing it at them.

I spent Sunday wearing in the uniform, walking about the hotel rooms fully dressed. I did a lot of scratching and twitching — it had been a long time since I’d had to wear anything so confining. That night I shaved carefully and let Mr Crepsley cut my hair. Afterwards he and Harkat left to hunt for the vampaneze. For the first night since coming to the city, I stayed behind — I had school in the morning, and needed to be fresh for it. As time progressed, I’d work out a schedule whereby I’d assist in the hunt for the killers, but the first few nights were bound to be difficult and we all agreed it would be for the best if I dropped out of the hunt for a while.

I got hardly any sleep. I was almost as nervous as I’d been seven years earlier, when awaiting the verdict of the Vampire Princes after I’d failed my Trials of Initiation. At least then I knew what the worst could be – death – but I’d no idea what to expect from this strange adventure.

Mr Crepsley and Harkat were awake in the morning to see me off. They ate breakfast with me and tried to act as though I’d nothing to worry about. “This is a wonderful opportunity,” Mr Crepsley said. “You have often complained of the life you lost when you became a half-vampire. This is a chance to revisit your past. You can be human again, for a while. It will be fascinating.”

“Why don’t you go instead of me then?” I snapped.

“I would if I could,” he deadpanned.

“It’ll be fun,” Harkat assured me. “Strange at first, but give it time and you’ll fit in. And don’t feel inferior: these kids will know … a lot more about the school curriculum than you, but you are … a man of the world and know things that they will … never learn, no matter how old they live to be.”

“You are a Prince,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “far superior to any there.”

Their efforts didn’t really help, but I was glad they were supporting me instead of mocking me.

With breakfast out of the way, I made a few ham sandwiches, packed them in my bag along with a small jar of pickled onions and a bottle of orange juice, and then it was time to leave.

“Do you want me to walk you to school?” Mr Crepsley asked innocently. “There are many dangerous roads to cross. Or perhaps you could ask a lollypop lady to hold your hand and–”

“Stuff it,” I grunted, and bolted out the door with my bag full of books.

Mahler’s was a large, modern school, the buildings arranged in a square around an open-air, cement recreational area. The main doors were open when I arrived, so I entered and went looking for the headmaster’s room. The halls and rooms were clearly signposted, and I found Mr Chivers’ room within a couple of minutes, but there was no sign of the headmaster. Half an hour passed — no Mr Chivers. I wondered if Mr Blaws had forgotten to tell the headmaster of my early arrival, but then I recalled the little man with the huge briefcase, and knew he wasn’t the sort who forgot things like that. Maybe Mr Chivers thought he was supposed to meet me by the main doors or the staffroom. I decided to check.

The staffroom could have held twenty-five or thirty teachers, but I saw only three when I knocked and entered in response to a cry of, “Come in.” Two were middle-aged men, glued to thick chairs, reading enormous newspapers. The other was a burly woman, busy pinning sheets of printed paper to the walls.

“Help you?” the woman snapped without looking around.

“My name’s Darren Horston. I’m looking for Mr Chivers.”

“Mr Chivers isn’t in yet. Have you an appointment?”

“Um. Yes. I think so.”

“Then wait for him outside his office. This is the staffroom.”

“Oh. OK.”

Closing the door, I picked up my bag and returned to the headmaster’s room. There was still no sign of him. I waited ten more minutes, then went searching for him again. This time I made for the school entrance, where I found a group of teenagers leaning against a wall, talking loudly, yawning, laughing, calling each other names and cursing pleasantly. They were dressed in Mahler uniforms like me, but the clothes looked natural on them.

I approached a gang of five boys and two girls. They had their backs to me and were discussing some programme they’d seen on TV the night before. I cleared my throat to attract their attention, then smiled and stuck out a hand to the nearest boy when he turned. “Darren Horston,” I grinned. “I’m new here. I’m looking for Mr Chivers. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

The boy stared at my hand – he didn’t shake it – then into my face.

“You wot?” he mumbled.

“My name’s Darren Horston,” I said again. “I’m looking for–”

“I ’eard you the first time,” he interrupted, scratching his nose and studying me suspiciously.

“Shivers ain’t in yet,” a girl said, and giggled as though she’d said something funny.

“Shivers ain’t ever in before ten past nine,” one of the boys yawned.

“An’ even later on a Monday,” the girl said.

“Everyone knows that,” the boy who’d first spoken added.

“Oh,” I muttered. “Well, as I said, I’m new here, so I can’t be expected to know things that everyone else knows, can I?” I smiled, pleased to have made such a clever point on my first day in school.

“Get stuffed, asswipe,” the boy said in response, which wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.

“Pardon?” I blinked.

“You ’eard.” He squared up to me. He was about a head taller, dark-haired, with a nasty squint. I could knock the stuffing out of any human in the school, but I’d momentarily forgotten that, and backed away from him, unsure of why he was acting this way.

“Go on, Smickey,” one of the other boys laughed. “Do ’im!”

“Nah,” the boy called Smickey smirked. “He ain’t worth it.”

Turning his back on me, he resumed his conversation with the others as though nothing had interrupted it. Shaken and confused, I slouched away. As I turned the corner, out of human but not vampire hearing, I heard one of the girls say, “That guy’s seriously weird!”

“See that bag he was carrying?” Smickey laughed. “It was the size of a cow! He must have half the books in the country in it!”

“He spoke weird,” the girl said.

“And he looked even weirder,” the other girl added. “Those scars and red patches of flesh. And did you see that awful haircut? He looked like somefing out of a zoo!”

“Too right,” Smickey said. “He smelt like it too!”

The gang laughed, then talk turned to the TV programme again. Trudging up the stairs, clutching my bag to my chest, feeling very small and ashamed of my hair and appearance, I positioned myself by Mr Chivers’ door, hung my head, and miserably waited for the headmaster to show.