Vampire Mountain

 

AFTER BREAKFAST, MR. CREPSLEY and me went to shower, since we were filthy from the trek. He said we wouldn't wash a lot while we were here, but a shower at the start was a good idea. The Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl was a huge cavern with modest stalactites and two natural waterfalls, set close together to the right of the door. The water fell from high up into a vampire-made pond and flowed to a hole near the back of the cavern, through which it disappeared and joined up with other streams underground.

"What do you think of the waterfalls?" Mr. Crepsley asked, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the running water.

"Beautiful," I said, admiring the way the torchlight reflected in the cascading water. "But where are the showers?"

Mr. Crepsley grinned sadistically and I realized where we were meant to wash.

"No way!" I shouted. "The water must be freezing!"

"It is," Mr. Crepsley agreed, slipping off his clothes, "but there are no other bathing facilities in Vampire Mountain."

I started to protest, but he laughed, walked to the nearest waterfall, and immersed himself in the spray. I felt chilly just looking at the vampire showering, but I'd been eager to wash, and I knew he'd mock me for the rest of our stay if I backed out. So, wriggling free of my clothes, I walked to the edge of the pond, tested the water with my toes - yowch! - then leaped forward and surrendered myself to the flow of the second waterfall.

"Oh, man!" I roared with ice-cold shock. "This is torture!"

"Aye!" Mr. Crepsley shouted. "Now you understand why so few vampires bother to wash while at Council!"

"Is there a law against hot water?" I screeched, furiously scrubbing my chest, back, and under my arms in a hurry to finish with the shower.

"Not as such," Mr. Crepsley replied, stepping out of his waterfall and running a hand through his short crop of orange hair, before shaking it dry like a dog.

"But cold water is good enough for nature's other creatures of the wilds - we prefer not to heat it, at least not here, in the heart of our homeland."

Rough, prickly towels had been laid out close to the pond, and I wrapped myself in two of them as soon as I got out from under the waterfall. For a few minutes I felt like my blood had turned to ice, but then my sensations returned, and I was able to enjoy the warmth of the thick towels.

"Bracing," Mr. Crepsley commented, rubbing himself dry.

"Murder, more like," I grumbled, though secretly I kind of enjoyed the originality of the primitive shower.

While we were dressing, I stared at the rocky ceiling and walls and wondered how old the Halls were. I asked Mr. Crepsley.

"Nobody knows exactly when vampires first came here or how they found it," he said. "The oldest discovered artifacts date back about three thousand years, but it is likely that for a long time it was only used occasionally, by small bands of wandering vampires.

"As far as we know, the Halls were established as a permanent base about fourteen hundred years ago. That is when the first Princes moved in and the Councils began. The Halls have grown since then. There are vampires at work on the structure all the time, hollowing out new rooms, extending old ones, building tunnels. It is long, tiring work - no mechanical equipment is allowed - but we have plenty of time to attend to it."

By the time we emerged from the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl, word of Harkat's message had spread. He had told the Princes that the night of the Vampaneze Lord was at hand, and the vampires were in an uproar. They milled around the mountain like ants, passing on the word to those who hadn't heard, discussing it hotly and making ridiculous plans to go out and kill all the vampaneze they could find.

Mr. Crepsley had promised to take me on a tour of the Halls, but postponed it because of the commotion. He said we'd go when things quieted down - I might be trampled by agitated vampires if we went now. I was disappointed, but knew he was right. This was no time to go exploring.

When we got back to my sleeping area, a young vampire had taken away our coffins and was stringing up hammocks. He offered to find new clothes for Mr. Crepsley and me if we wanted. We thanked him and accompanied him to one of the storerooms to be outfitted. The stores of Vampire Mountain were full of treasures - food and blood vats and hidden weapons - but I only got a brief look at these; the young vampire took us directly to the rooms where spare clothes were stored, and left us alone to pick whatever we liked.

I searched for a costume like my old one, but there were no pirate suits, so I chose a brown sweatshirt and dark pants, with a pair of soft shoes. Mr. Crepsley dressed all in red - his favorite color - although these clothes were less fancy than the ones he normally wore.

It was while he was adjusting his cape that I realized how similar his dress sense and Seba Nile's were. I mentioned it to him and he smiled. "I have copied many of Seba's ways," he said. "Not just his way of dressing, but also his way of speaking. I did not always use these precise, measured tones. When I was your age, I ran my words together the same as anybody. Years spent in the company of Seba taught me to slow down and consider my words before speaking."

"You mean I might end up like you one day?" I asked, alarmed at the thought of sounding so serious and stuffy.

"You might," Mr. Crepsley said, "though I would not bet on it. Seba commanded my utmost respect, so I tried hard to copy what he did. You, on the other hand, seem to be determined to do the opposite of everything I say."

"I'm not that bad," I said, but there was some grain of truth in his words. I'd always been stubborn. I admired Mr. Crepsley more than he knew, but hated the idea of looking like a pushover who did everything he was told. Sometimes I disobeyed the vampire just so he wouldn't think I was paying attention to what he said!

"Besides," Mr. Crepsley added, "I have neither the heart nor the will to punish you when you make mistakes, as Seba punished me."

"Why?" I asked. "What did he do?"

"He was a fair but hard teacher," Mr. Crepsley said. "When I told him of my desire to mimic him, he began paying close attention to my vocabulary. Whenever I said 'don't' or 'it's' or 'can't' - he would pluck a hair from inside my nose!"

"No way! "I hooted.

"It is true," he said glumly.

"Did he use tweezers?"

"No - his fingernails."

"Ow!"

Mr. Crepsley nodded. "I asked him to stop - I said I no longer cared to copy him - but he would not - he believes in finishing what one starts. After several months of having the hairs ripped from inside my nostrils, I had a brain wave, and singed them with a red-hot rod - not something I recommend you try! - so they would not grow back."

"What happened?"

Mr. Crepsley blushed. "He began plucking hairs from an even more tender spot."

"Where? "I quickly asked.

The vampire's blush deepened. "I will not say - it is far too embarrassing."

(Later, when I got Seba by himself and asked him, he chortled wickedly and told me: "His ears!")

While we were putting our shoes on, a slender, blond vampire in a bright blue suit barged into the room and slammed the door behind him. He stood panting by the door, unaware of us, until Mr. Crepsley called to him, "Is that you, Kurda?"

"No!" the vampire yelled and grabbed for the handle. Then he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Larten?"

"Yes," Mr. Crepsley replied.

"That's different." The vampire sauntered over. When he got closer, I saw that he had three small, red scars on his left cheek. They looked somehow familiar, but I couldn't think why. "I was hoping to run into you. I wanted to ask about this Harkat Mulds person and his message. Is it true?"

Mr. Crepsley shrugged. "I have only heard the rumor.

He said nothing to us about it on our way here." Mr. Crepsley hadn't forgotten our promise to Harkat.

"Not a word of it?" the vampire asked, sitting on an upturned barrel.

"He told us the message was for the Vampire Princes only," I said.

The vampire eyed me curiously. "You must be the Darren Shan I've been hearing about." He shook my hand. "I'm Kurda Smahlt."

"What were you running from?" Mr. Crepsley asked.

"Questions." Kurda groaned. "As soon as word of the Little Person and his message circulated, everyone ran to me to ask if it was true."

"Why should they ask you?" Mr. Crepsley inquired.

"Because I know more about the vampaneze than most. And because of my investiture - it's amazing how much more you're expected to know when you move up in the world."

"Gavner Purl told me about that. Congratulations," Mr. Crepsley said rather stiffly.

"You don't approve," Kurda noted.

"I did not say that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face. But I don't mind. You're not the only one who objects. I'm used to the controversy."

"Excuse me," I said, "but what's an investiture?"

"That's what they call it when you move up in the organization," Kurda explained. He had a light way of speaking, and a smile was never far from his lips and eyes. He reminded me of Gavner, and I took an immediate liking to him.

"Where are you moving to?" I asked.

"The top." He smiled. "I'm being made a Prince. There'll be a big ceremony and a lot of to-do." He grimaced. "It'll be a dull affair, I'm afraid, but there's no way around it. Centuries of tradition, standards to uphold, et cetera."

"You should not speak dismissively of your investiture," Mr. Crepsley growled. "It is a great honor."

"I know." Kurda sighed. "I just wish people wouldn't make such a big deal of it. It's not like I've done anything wondrous."

"How do you become a Vampire Prince?" I asked.

"Why?" Kurda replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Thinking of applying for the job?"

"No." I chuckled. "Just curious."

"There's no fixed way," he said. "To become a General, you study for a set number of years and pass regular tests. Princes, on the other hand, are elected sporadically and for different reasons.

"Usually a Prince is someone who's distinguished himself in many battles, earning the trust and admiration of his colleagues. One of the established Princes nominates him. If the other Princes agree, he's automatically elevated up the ranks. If one objects, the Generals vote and the majority decision decides his fate. If two or more Princes object, the motion's rejected.

"I squeezed in by the vote," he said with a grin. "Fifty-four percent of the Generals think I'll make a fitting Prince. Which means that near enough one in two think I won't!"

"It was the tightest vote ever," Mr. Crepsley said. "Kurda is only a hundred and twenty earth years old, making him one of the youngest Princes ever, and many Generals believe he is too young to command their respect. They will follow him once he is elected - there is no question of that - but they are not happy about it."

"Come now," Kurda said. "Don't cover up for me and leave the boy thinking it's my age they object to. Here, Darren." When I was standing beside him, he bent his right arm so that the biceps were bulging. "What do you think?"

"They're not very big," I answered truthfully.

Kurda howled gleefully. "May the gods of the vampires save us from honest children! But you're right - they're not big. Every other Prince has muscles the size of bowling balls. The Princes have always been the biggest, toughest, bravest vampires. I'm the first to be nominated because of this." He tapped his head. "My brain."

"You mean you're smarter than everybody else?"

"Way smarter," he said, then made a face. "Not really." He sighed. "I just use my brains more than most. I don't believe vampires should stick to the old ways as rigidly as they do. I think we should move forward and adapt to life in the twenty-first century. More than anything else, I believe we should strive to make peace with our estranged brothers - the vampaneze."

"Kurda is the first vampire since the signing of the peace treaty to consort with the vampaneze," Mr. Crepsley said gruffly.

"Consort?" I asked uncertainly.

"I've been meeting with them," Kurda explained. "I've spent much of the last thirty or forty years tracking them down, talking, getting to know them. That's where I got my scars." He tapped the left side of his face. "I had to agree to let them mark me - it was a way of offering myself to them and placing myself at their mercy."

Now I knew why the scars looked familiar - I'd seen similar marks on a human that the mad vampaneze Murlough had targeted six years earlier! Vampaneze were traditionalists and marked their prey before a kill, always the same three scratches on the left cheek.

"The vampaneze aren't as different from us as most vampires believe," Kurda continued. "Many would jump at the chance to return to the fold. Compromises will have to be made - both sides must back down on certain issues - but I'm sure we can come to terms and live together again, as one."

"That is why he is being invested," Mr. Crepsley said. "A lot of the Generals - fifty-four percent, in any case - think it is time we were reunited with the vampaneze. The vampaneze trust Kurda but are reluctant to commit to negotiations with other Generals. When Kurda is a Prince, he will have total control over the Generals, and the vampaneze know no General would disobey the order of a Prince. So if he sends a vampire along to discuss terms, the vampaneze will trust him and sit down to talk. Or so the reasoning goes."

"You don't agree with it, Larten?" Kurda asked.

Mr. Crepsley looked troubled. "There is much about the vampaneze that I admire, and I have never been opposed to talks designed to bridge the gap between us. But I would not be so quick to give them a voice among the Princes."

"You think they might use me to force more of their beliefs on us than we force on them?" Kurda suggested.

"Something like that."

Kurda shook his head. "I'm looking to create a tribe of equals. I won't force any changes through that the other Princes and Generals don't agree with."

"If that is so, luck to you. But things are happening too fast for my liking. Were I a General, I would have campaigned as hard as I could against you."

"I hope I live long enough to prove your distrust of me ill-founded." Kurda sighed, then turned to me. "What do you think, Darren? Is it time for a change?"

I hesitated before answering. "I don't know enough about the vampires or vampaneze to offer an opinion," I said.

"Nonsense," Kurda huffed. "Everyone's entitled to an opinion. Go on, Darren, tell me what you think. I like to know what's on people's minds. The world would be a simpler and safer place if we all spoke our true thoughts."

"Well," I said slowly, "I'm not sure I like the idea of doing a deal with the vampaneze - I think it's wrong to kill humans when you drink from them - but if you could persuade them to stop killing, it might be a good thing."

"This boy has brains," Kurda said, winking at me. "What you said just about sums up my own arguments in a nutshell. The killing of humans is deplorable and it's one of the concessions the vampaneze will have to make before a deal can be forged. But unless we draw them into talks and earn their trust, they'll never stop. Wouldn't it be worth giving up a few of our ways if we could stop the bloody murder?"

"Absolutely," I agreed.

"Hurm!" Mr. Crepsley grunted, and wouldn't talk anymore about the subject.

"Anyway," Kurda said, "I can't stay hidden forever. Time to return and fend off more questions. You're sure there's nothing you can tell me about the Little Person and his message?"

"Afraid not," Mr. Crepsley said curtly.

"Oh, well. I suppose I'll find out when I report to the Hall of Princes and see him myself. I hope you enjoy your stay in Vampire Mountain, Darren. We must get together once the chaos has died down and have a proper chat."

"I'd like that," I said.

"Larten." He saluted Mr. Crepsley.

"Kurda."

He let himself out.

"Kurda's nice," I remarked. "I like him."

Mr. Crepsley glanced at me sideways, stroked the long scar on his own left cheek, gazed thoughtfully at the door Kurda had left by, and again went, "Hurm!"