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Mr Tiny entered the mountain by a different tunnel to the one we’d used. It was a tunnel I’d never been in, higher, wider and drier than most. There were no twists or side tunnels leading off it. It rose straight and steady up the spine of the mountain. Mr Tiny spotted me staring at the walls of the unfamiliar tunnel. “This is one of my short cuts,” he said. “I’ve short cuts all over the world, in places you wouldn’t dream of Saves time.”
As we progressed, we passed groups of very pale-skinned humans in rags, lining the sides of the tunnel, bowing low to Mr Tiny. These were the Guardians of the Blood, people who lived within Vampire Mountain and donated their blood to the vampires. In return, they were allowed to extract a vampire’s internal organs and brain when he died — which they ate at special ceremonies!
I felt nervous walking past the ranks of Guardians — I’d never seen so many of them gathered together before – but Mr Tiny only smiled and waved at them, and didn’t stop to exchange any words.
Within a quarter of an hour we were at the gate which opened on to the Halls of Vampire Mountain. The guard on duty swung the door wide open when we knocked but stopped when he saw Mr Tiny and half closed it again. “Who are you?” he snapped defensively, hand snaking to the sword on his belt.
“You know who I am, Perlat Cheil,” Mr Tiny said, brushing past the startled guard.
“How do you know my—?” Perlat Cheil began, then stopped and gazed after the departing figure. He was trembling and his hand had fallen away from his sword. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked as I passed with Harkat and the Little People.
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Charna’s guts!” he gasped, and made the death’s touch sign by pressing the middle finger of his right hand to his forehead, and the two fingers next to that over his eyelids. It was a sign vampires made when they thought death was close.
Through the tunnels we marched, silencing conversations and causing jaws to drop. Even those who’d never met Mr Tiny recognized him, stopped what they were doing and fell in behind us, following wordlessly, as though trailing a hearse.
There was only one tunnel leading to the Hall of Princes – I’d found another six years ago, but that had since been blocked off – and it was protected by the Mountain’s finest guards. They were supposed to stop and search anyone seeking entry to the Hall, but when Mr Tiny approached, they gawped at him, lowered their weapons, then let him – and the rest of the procession – pass unobstructed.
Mr Tiny finally stopped at the doors of the Hall and glanced at the domed building which he’d built six centuries earlier. “It’s stood the test of time quite well, hasn’t it?” he remarked to no one in particular. Then, laying a hand on the doors, he opened them and entered. Only Princes were supposed to be able to open the doors, but it didn’t surprise me that Mr Tiny had the power to control them too.
Mika and Paris were within the Hall, discussing the war with a gaggle of Generals. There were a lot of sore heads and bleary eyes, but everyone snapped to attention when they saw Mr Tiny striding in.
“By the teeth of the gods!” Paris gasped, his face whitening. He cringed as Mr Tiny set foot on the platform of thrones, then drew himself straight and forced a tight smile. “Desmond,” he said, “it is good to see you.”
“You too, Paris,” Mr Tiny responded.
“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” Paris enquired with strained politeness.
“Wait a minute and I’ll tell you,” Mr Tiny replied, then plopped himself down on a throne – mine! – crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. “Get the gang in,” he said, crooking a finger at Mika. “I’ve something to say and it’s for everybody’s ears.”
Within a few minutes, almost every vampire in the mountain had crowded into the Hall of Princes, and stood nervously by the walls – as far away from Mr Tiny as possible – waiting for the mysterious visitor to speak.
Mr Tiny had been checking his nails and rubbing them up and down the front of his jacket. The Little People were standing behind the throne. Harkat stood to their left, looking uncertain. I sensed he didn’t know whether to stand with his brothers-of-nature or with his brothers-of-choice — the vampires.
“All present and correct?” Mr Tiny asked. He got to his feet and waddled to the front of the platform. “Then I’ll come straight to the point. The Lord of the Vampaneze has been blooded.” He paused, anticipating gasps, groans and cries of terror. But we all just stared at him, too shocked to react. “Six hundred years ago,” he continued, “I told your forebears that the Vampaneze Lord would lead the vampaneze into a war against you and wipe you out. That was a truth — but not the truth. The future is both open and closed. There’s only one ‘will be’ but there are often hundreds of ‘can be’s’. Which means the Vampaneze Lord and his followers can be defeated.”
Breath caught in every vampire’s throat and you could feel hope forming in the air around us, like a cloud.
“The Vampaneze Lord is only a half-vampaneze at the moment,” Mr Tiny said. “If you find and kill him before he’s fully blooded, victory will be yours.”
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