“I don’t know,” I muttered. “It was weird, the way they let us leave. I know Gannen said it was to spare the lives of his companions, but if they’d killed us, they were guaranteed victory in the War of the Scars. I think there’s more to it than he was letting on. Having spared us when they had us trapped on their own turf, I doubt they’ll come all the way up here to fight on our territory.”
My companions mused on that in silence.
“I think we should return to our base and try to make sense of this,” I said. “Even if we can’t, we can get some rest and tend to our wounds. Then, come night, we’ll attack.”
“Sounds good to me,” Vancha said.
“As good a plan as any,” Mr Crepsley sighed.
“Harkat?” I asked the Little Person.
His round green eyes were full of doubt, but he grimaced and nodded. “I think we’re fools to stay, but if … we’re going to, I guess at least we have weapons and … provisions there.”
“Besides,” Vancha added grimly, “most of the apartments are empty. It’s quiet.” He ran a menacing finger along the neck of his captured vampet, a shaven-headed man with the dark ‘V’ of the vampets tattooed above either ear. “There are some questions I want answered, but the asking won’t be pleasant. It’ll be for the best if there’s nobody around to hear.”
The vampet sneered at Vancha as though unimpressed, but I could see fear in his blood-rimmed eyes. Vampaneze had the strength to withstand horrible torture, but vampets were human. A vampire could do terrible things to a human.
Mr Crepsley and Vancha wrapped their robes and hides around their heads and shoulders, to protect them from the worst of the sun. Then, pushing Steve and the vampet ahead of us, we climbed to roof level, got our bearings, and wearily headed for base.
CHAPTER TWO
“BASE” WAS the fifth floor of an ancient, largely abandoned block of apartments. It was where Steve had set up camp. We’d moved in when we teamed up with him. We occupied three apartments on the floor. While Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I bundled Steve into the middle apartment, Vancha grabbed the vampet by his ears and hauled him off to the apartment on the right.
“Will he torture him?” I asked Mr Crepsley, pausing at the door.
“Yes,” the vampire answered bluntly.
I didn’t like the thought of that, but the circumstances called for swift, true answers. Vancha was only doing what had to be done. In war there’s sometimes no room for compassion or humanity.
Entering our apartment, I hurried to the fridge. It didn’t work – the apartment had no electricity – but we stored our drinks and food there.
“Anyone hungry or thirsty?” I asked.
“I’ll have a steak – extra bloody – fries and a Coke to go,” Steve quipped. He’d made himself comfortable on the couch, and was smiling around at us as though we were one big happy family.
I ignored him. “Mr Crepsley? Harkat?”
“Water, please,” Mr Crepsley said, shrugging off his tattered red cloak, so he could examine his wounds. “And bandages,” he added.
“Are you hurt?” Harkat asked.
“Not really. But the tunnels we crawled through were unhygienic. We should all clean out our wounds to prevent infection.”
I washed my hands, then threw some food together. I wasn’t hungry but I felt I should eat — my body was working solely on excess adrenaline; it needed feeding. Harkat and Mr Crepsley also tucked into the food and soon we were finishing off the last of the crumbs.
We offered none to Steve.
While we were tending to our wounds, I stared hatefully at Steve, who grinned back mockingly. “How long did it take to set this up?” I asked. “Getting us here, arranging those false papers for me and sending me to school, luring us down the tunnels — how long?”
“Years,” Steve replied proudly. “It wasn’t easy. You don’t know the half of it. That cavern where the trap was set — we built that from scratch, along with the tunnels leading in and out of it. We built other caverns too. There’s one I’m especially proud of. I hope I have the chance to show it to you some time.”
“You went to all this trouble just for us?” Mr Crepsley asked, startled.
“Yes,” Steve replied smugly.
“Why?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to fight us in the old, existing tunnels?”
“Easier,” Steve agreed, “but not as much fun. I’ve developed a love of the dramatic over the years — a bit like Mr Tiny. You should appreciate that, having worked for a circus for so long.”
“What I don’t understand,” Harkat mused, “is what the … Vampaneze Lord was doing there, or why the other vampaneze … aided you in your insane plans.”
“Not as insane as you might think,” Steve retorted. “The Vampaneze Lord knew you’d be coming. Mr Tiny told him all about the hunters who would dog his footsteps. He also said that running away or hiding wasn’t an option — if our Lord didn’t make a stand and face those who hunted him, the War of the Scars would be lost.
“When he learnt of my interest in you – and R.V.’s – he consulted us and together we hatched this plan. Gannen Harst cautioned against it — he’s old school and would have preferred a direct confrontation — but the Vampaneze Lord shares my theatrical tastes.”
“This Lord of yours,” Mr Crepsley said. “What does he look like?”
Steve laughed and shook a finger at the vampire. “Now, now, Larten. You don’t honestly expect me to describe him, do you? He’s been very careful not to show his face, even to most of those who follow him.”
“We could torture it out of you,” I growled.
“I doubt it,” Steve smirked. “I’m half-vampaneze. I can take anything you can dish out. I’d let you kill me before I betrayed the clan.” He shrugged off the heavy jacket he’d been wearing since we met. Strong chemical odours wafted off him.
“He’s not shivering any more,” Harkat said suddenly. Steve had told us he suffered from colds, which was why he had to wear lots of clothes and smear on lotions to protect himself.
“Of course not,” Steve said. “That was all for show.”
“You have the slyness of a demon,” Mr Crepsley grunted. “By claiming to be susceptible to colds, you were able to wear gloves to hide your fingertip scars, and douse yourself in sickly-smelling lotions to mask your vampaneze stench.”
“The smell was the difficult bit,” Steve laughed. “I knew your sensitive noses would sniff my blood out, so I had to distract them.” He pulled a face. “But it hasn’t been easy. My sense of smell is also highly developed, so the fumes have played havoc with my sinuses. The headaches are awful.”
“My heart bleeds for you,” I snarled sarcastically, and Steve laughed with delight. He was having a great time, even though he was our prisoner. His eyes were alight with evil glee.
“You won’t be grinning if R.V. refuses to trade Debbie for you,” I told him.
“True enough,” he admitted. “But I live only to see you and Creepy Crepsley suffer. I could die happy knowing the