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Larten and Gavner shared an uncertain look. They couldn’t hear anything. Then, out of nowhere, Larten heard the footsteps of several heavy people, close to the entrance to the crypt. He couldn’t understand how they had got so near without alerting him before this. It was as if they had dropped to the earth or appeared out of thin air.
As Larten tensed and Gavner rose to his feet, eight strange figures entered the crypt and fanned out around Mr Tiny’s coffin. They were even shorter than the meddler in yellow, and all were dressed in blue robes with hoods drawn over their heads to hide their faces.
“The Little People,” Larten sighed, having heard the legends.
“I must come up with a better name for them one day,” Mr Tiny purred, leaning across to adjust the hood of the Little Person closest him. Larten caught a glimpse of grey skin which had been stitched together, and a flash of green which might have been the creature’s eyes. Its mouth was covered with some sort of mask. Before he could probe further, the hood fell back into place and he saw nothing more of the Little Person’s face.
“I’m taking them to the Cirque Du Freak,” Mr Tiny said, and Larten’s eyes lit up.
“The Cirque is nearby?” he gasped, surprising Gavner with his enthusiasm.
Mr Tiny nodded. “Just a few hours from here. That’s why I’m in the area. You didn’t think I dropped by just to pass the time with you and your pup, did you?”
“Don’t call me a–” Gavner growled, taking a menacing step forward. Before he got any further, four of the Little People stepped in front of him and shielded Mr Tiny. They made no sounds and he couldn’t see their faces, but Gavner got the impression that they were snarling hungrily beneath their hoods.
“If you don’t withdraw, they’ll tear you limb from limb and eat your flesh while it’s warm and bloody,” Mr Tiny said cheerfully. He studied Gavner speculatively. “I believe I’ll ask them to keep your tongue for me.”
Gavner retreated swiftly, only stopping when he backed into the wall. The Little People returned to their original positions. Mr Tiny looked disappointed.
Larten had taken no notice of the exchange. He was searching mentally for Mr Tall, the owner of the Cirque Du Freak. The pair had bonded years before and Larten could track him the same way he could track Seba and Wester.
After a few seconds the orange-haired vampire smiled. Mr Tiny had told the truth — his old friend was no more than a couple of hours away. Larten brightened at the thought of meeting with Mr Tall again. He adored the world of the Cirque Du Freak, its fantastical performers, the magical shows it produced without fail night after night.
“You can come with me,” Mr Tiny said. “I won’t be stopping – I just want to drop off my Little People – but you can stay once I’m gone.”
Larten would have loved to accept the tiny man’s offer, but as he thought about it, his excitement dwindled. He didn’t want to lead the Nazis to the Cirque Du Freak — it might mean complications for Mr Tall and his crew. Better to steer clear and return at a later date when he was free of his vampiric duties.
“No, thank you,” Larten said. “We must move on. We do not have time for social visits.”
“As you like,” Mr Tiny sniffed. He got to his feet, put his boot back on and started for the exit.
“One moment,” Larten stopped him.
“Yes?” Mr Tiny paused.
“If you do not mind my asking, could you tell me why you are taking the Little People to the Cirque Du Freak?”
Mr Tiny shrugged. “I have a vested interest in the Cirque. Hibernius Tall might be my polar opposite when it comes to height, but we share many similar concerns. I help out in times of distress. Hibernius can usually take care of himself, but he doesn’t always act in his own best interest. Sometimes he is powerless to shield his performers from the cruelties of the world. In times of danger and terrible wars, I send a troop of Little People to travel with the Cirque and guard the cast and crew from catastrophe.”
“But this is not a time of war,” Larten noted.
“It will be soon,” Mr Tiny chuckled, his eyes flashing with wicked delight. “The most delicious war ever will be hot upon us within a matter of years. I can’t wait. It’s going to be majestic. I plan to follow it in all its gory glory, so I need to see to Hibernius in advance, to avoid getting distracted later.”
“You cannot know that for certain,” Larten said. “Like you, I think there will be another savage war, but it is a guess. Neither of us can be sure.”
“I can,” Mr Tiny purred. “Time is not the mystery for me that it is for you. I can see into the future. I know what lies ahead.”
“If that is true, you could stop it,” Larten said. “You could intervene and halt it at its source.”
“I could,” Mr Tiny said thoughtfully, then grinned viciously. “But that wouldn’t be any fun!”
Mr Tiny threw a mock salute at Larten and Gavner then ducked out of the crypt. His Little People followed like a line of giant, gloomy ducks. Larten and Gavner stared at each other. Before they could say anything, Mr Tiny stuck his head back inside. “I almost forgot — you’ll be seeing your old friend Wester Flack soon. Give him my regards, won’t you?”
“Wester?” Larten snapped. “What is he doing here and how do you…?”
Before he could complete the question, Mr Tiny was gone, leaving a troubled Larten and a bewildered Gavner alone in the crypt with the remains of the dead.
A week later, with the Nazis hot on their trail, Wester caught up with Larten and Gavner on a wind-swept mountain. It was raining heavily. The pair had been searching for a cave where they could rest during the day. Larten spotted Wester from a long way off, but they kept searching while the guard closed in on them.
Larten hugged Wester when he arrived. The pair were like brothers and had been for most of their lives.
“It is a joy to see you,” Larten greeted him.
“You too,” Wester smiled, but he looked drawn and tired. He started to speak, but Larten shook his head and wiped rain from his face.
“Help us find a cave. We can talk when we are sheltered and dry.”
Wester scoured the mountain with the others. In the end they found a tiny cave – little more than a hole – and squeezed into it. At least the rain wouldn’t drench them here. There was no room to light a fire, but they generated enough body heat to warm the cramped space.
As they wrung the worst of the rain out of their clothes, Larten asked casually, “Why have you been consulting with Desmond Tiny?”
Wester stared at Larten, astonished. “How do you know that?”
“He paid us a visit recently.”
Wester looked worried. “What did he say about me?”
“Only that you would be joining us soon. He asked me to give you his regards.”
Wester scowled. “Damn his regards! He shocked the life out of me a couple of years ago. I was scouting around the base of Vampire Mountain – Seba had asked me to bring him some berries – and Mr Tiny hailed me from a tree.”
“Desmond Tiny has returned to Vampire Mountain?” Larten snapped.
“No. He didn’t enter. He said that he just happened to be passing, but I think he specifically came to see me.”
Larten frowned. “Did he say why?”
Wester sighed. There were dark rims around his eyes and the flesh of his cheeks was tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept much or eaten properly in a long time. “I’m losing support,” he said softly. “Those who stood by me in my campaign to alert the clan to the threat of the vampaneze are trickling away. The tide of opinion is turning. Many vampires see shades of our hatred for the vampaneze mirrored in the hatred of the Nazis for their enemies. They have begun to question our motives and goals.”
Wester despised the purple-skinned vampaneze. One of them had killed his family. His thirst for revenge had never ebbed. He’d linked up with others of his mindset and they had been trying to gather enough support to drive the vampires to war with their blood cousins. Larten was pleased to hear that they were losing momentum.
“Mr Tiny told me this would happen,” Wester went on. “He said he can see into the future, and that within a handful of years the anti-vampaneze movement will be a wreck. All but the most passionate will desert us and war with the vampaneze will never come to pass.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Gavner asked innocently.
“It is if you’re a vampaneze,” Wester spat.
Gavner blinked. He’d met Wester a couple of times, but had never seen this side of the guard. He glanced questioningly at Larten, but the General was focused on his drained-looking friend.
“Mr Tiny thrives on war,” Larten said softly. “He loves chaos, battle, death. Did he visit you in order to encourage you, to advise you on how you could rally the troops and relight the fires of hatred in the hearts of the clan?”
Wester nodded glumly. “He said you were the key.”
Larten’s features darkened. “I have never been one of your supporters. You know I do not agree with you on this point. How can I have any connection to your fortune in this regard?”
“We need a figurehead,” Wester said. “I thought Arrow could be our leader, but although he hates the vampaneze as much as I do, he doesn’t favour going to war. Several of our older, respected members have died in recent times, which has further weakened our cause. But they were never going to be strong enough to drive us forward. We need a youthful, talismanic figure. A Prince, ideally, or a General of high standing.”
“No Prince will back you,” Larten said.
“None of the current batch,” Wester agreed.
Larten’s eyes narrowed. “But you think you have found a future Prince who you can manipulate?”
“Not manipulate,” Wester said quickly. “I’m not looking to trick anyone into doing anything they don’t want to. But if I could persuade… reason with…” He trailed off and stared at the floor. “Mr Tiny said that you would become a Prince.”
“Nonsense,” Larten barked. “He was toying with you. He lied.”
“I don’t think so.” Wester looked up again. “You’re widely respected. Your reputation has been growing steadily since you returned from Greenland, having found the burial palace of Perta Vin-Grahl. Generals talk of you when they gather and debate your movements and deeds. Your recent criticism of the Nazis won you even more admirers. You put the feelings of the clan into a few clear, simple words. They liked that. Many who were initially in favour of a union with the Nazis changed their minds because of what you said.”
Larten stared at his blood-brother, worried by what he was hearing. He’d never seriously thought that he might be asked to become a Prince. He knew that he had earned the respect of many in the clan, but he’d no idea feelings ran this deeply. In his own eyes he was seriously flawed. He had made a lot of mistakes, some of which he bitterly regretted. He was astonished to hear that others regarded him so highly.
“I have never sought nomination,” Larten muttered. “Unlike Mika, I have no wish to become a Prince. It has never been my intention to impress.”
Wester chuckled. “That’s why they like you. Most Princes don’t want to be leaders. They’re chosen partly because of their lack of ambition, not because they desire power. Mika’s an exception, but you’re like the majority, a steadfast, pure-hearted, uncomplicated vampire. Generals prefer your sort.”
Larten shook his head with wonder, then shrugged. “I do not know if what you say is true or an exaggeration. Either way, it makes no difference. I will go about my business as I always have. I am not concerned with the politics of Vampire Mountain. If I am ever asked to lead, I shall accept with humility and honour. If not, I will serve no less fervently.
“But if they do ask… if I do become a Prince…” His face was hard. “What good would that be to you?”
Wester gulped and looked aside, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze. “I’ve never asked anything of you,” he croaked, cheeks flushing. “In the matter of the vampaneze, I left you to your conscience. I would have cherished your support, but I never sought it. I asked for no favours.”
“And I respect you for that,” Larten said, hoping that Wester would stop there. But the slender guard couldn’t.
“I need you to back me now.” Larten could see how much Wester hated having to beg, but he was desperate. That desperation struck Larten hard and he said nothing as Wester continued. “Without you, I’m lost. All the years I’ve devoted to this… the arguments, the winning of influential friends, the sacrifices… it will have all been for nothing. I’ve always believed the clan would rally and take the fight to the craven, purple traitors before they came looking for us. That belief keeps me going and defines who I am. Without it I’m nobody, a nothing.”
Wester’s eyes were brimming with tears and he had to pause. Larten wanted to say something, but he could think of nothing that would be of any help.
“I’m finding it hard to sustain that belief,” Wester sobbed. “Friends and allies are deserting the movement. Generals scowl when I speak ill of the vampaneze. I’ve been told to guard my tongue, that this isn’t the time for such sentiments. We were so close – closer than you can imagine – to winning over the clan. Now our dreams are unravelling. A golden opportunity is passing us by, and in a few more years the chance to strike will have been lost.”
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