Birth of a Killer (9 page)

Laveesha could have entertained a steady stream of customers all night, but she stopped after the sixth. She was a superstitious woman and didn’t like a straight string of seven clients. But as she took her bows, a number of people slipped away to meet her in her tent for a private audience. Individuals sought out Laveesha after every show, even though she never offered her services or told them where her tent was. Larten could have eavesdropped on those meetings, but he didn’t, partly because it would have been rude, mostly because he was scared of what he might learn.

He circulated with his tray during the second
interval. Dolls of Salabas Skin disappeared from it like magic—they always sold well, especially the versions that you could eat. But although there were beautifully crafted dolls of Laveesha, featuring a variety of tattoos, Larten only sold a couple of them. If he had been responsible for production of the merchandise, he wouldn’t have bothered with any doll of Laveesha. But Mr. Tall made most of the sweets, toys, and dolls, and for him the reward lay in the creation more than the sales.

“Having no need for money, I would happily give my wares away,” he’d told Larten one day, “but humans don’t appreciate anything unless they pay for it.”

Larten had noted the tall man’s use of the word
humans
but made no comment. There was a lot more to Mr. Tall than met the eye, but the owner of the Cirque Du Freak guarded his secrets carefully, and Larten figured he would learn more by watching than by asking questions.

Acrobats spun around the stage while Larten and his team sold goods to the crowd. Most of the acrobats had doubled as dancing ladies at the start, but now they were dressed in different costumes. Once they’d departed, a couple of clowns caused chaos in the aisles, drenching people with water and telling
rude jokes. Mr. Tall was a master when it came to judging the mood of an audience. Laveesha was a true star, but she had a grim effect on the crowd. These simple entertainers were his way of shifting the show back on track for an uplifting finale guaranteed to send everyone away with a smile. (On other occasions he kept Laveesha back until the end and sent the audience away uneasily into the night. He liked to experiment with the lineup.)

As the clowns rolled away, fighting and cursing, Verus the Ventriloquist took the stage. Like any other of his kind, he started with a dummy. But after a few minutes he put the wooden figure aside and pointed at a woman near the front.

“I think you have been secretly admiring me, madame,” he said.

The woman looked shocked and opened her mouth to protest. But what came out was, “Yes, Verus, you’re the most dashing man I’ve ever seen.”

Her husband started to roar at her, but his angry cry changed halfway through, and instead he said, “I’ve been admiring you too, Verus!”

The crowd erupted with laughter as they realized Verus was manipulating the pair, working them as he had the dummy. The laughter never stopped as Verus picked on one member of the audience after another,
having them say whatever he wanted them to, but in their voices, not his.

As Verus drew his act to a close, Merletta came on one last time. Verus cocked an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. He focused and pointed both hands at her. He was trembling slightly. Merletta only smiled, then crooked a finger in Verus’s direction. He fell to his knees and declared, “You’re beautiful, Merletta! You’re the real star of the show!”

To a chorus of cheers and whistles, Verus rose and passionately kissed Merletta before exiting the stage. In real life the ventriloquist and the magician were married, but they never told that to an audience. It was more fun to let people think that Merletta had turned the tables on Verus.

After a few small tricks, Merletta sawed a woman in half, then made herself vanish. Mr. Tall came on with the final performer, Deemanus Dodge. As the stage was cleared, Larten and the others went through the crowd, handing out rotten fruit and vegetables, along with dirt-encrusted rocks and chunks of coal.

“Ladies and gentlemen—observe!” Mr. Tall yelled, producing a bar of solid gold. A hush fell over the audience, all eyes pinned on the yellow bar. It was a genuine fortune. Though there were some wealthy people in the crowd, most were poor and had to
scrape by in life, surviving day to day in a hard, cruel world. A bar of gold like this would change their lives forever.

“You have all paid an entrance fee and bought many of our trinkets, for which we bid you thanks,” Mr. Tall said. “But you do not have to go home lighter of pocket. We will give you a chance to win this gold bar and walk out of here rich beyond your wildest dreams. When I leave, Deemanus will issue a challenge. If any of you get the better of him, this bar will be yours.”

Mr. Tall glided offstage, and Deemanus stepped forward. He was wearing a white suit and a matching bowler hat. He smiled at the silent, covetous crowd. “It’s very simple, good ladies and gents. All you have to do is throw your missiles–that is to say, the objects that have been handed out–at me. You can throw other things too—shoes, coins, whatever you like. The first person to hit me wins the gold bar.”

Deemanus stood there, smiling and waiting. For a few seconds nobody moved. Most people were frowning, trying to figure out the catch—winning a gold bar could never be
that
simple. Then one man, a bit quicker or greedier than the rest, stood up and threw a head of cabbage at the stage.

Deemanus stepped aside as the cabbage sailed
past. “A lame first shot,” he chided the man. “Surely the rest of you can do better than that.”

As soon as he said it, objects rained down on him from all directions. People threw manically, savagely, fruit, vegetables, rocks, and coal. Some tore off their shoes or snatched trinkets from their pockets and lobbed those at him. Many raced to the front of the stage for a better shot, tussling with those in their way. One overeager man produced a gun in his furious excitement and fired two shots at the performer.

Deemanus dodged everything, even the bullets. He didn’t move at an incredible speed but simply seemed to dance around the stage, making tiny adjustments to his limbs to avoid the flying objects.

It seemed to last an age, but in reality the act lasted no more than a minute. The rain of objects trickled to a drizzle, then ceased. People were panting, wide-eyed, staring hungrily at Deemanus, scouring his suit for the slightest smudge. But it was spotless. He turned slowly, letting everyone see, even taking off his hat to display the top of it. Then, with a wink, he bowed and skipped from the stage.

Disappointment gave way to chuckles. People laughed at others and themselves, appreciating the humor in their wild display. A few looked genuinely bitter, but most had enjoyed the sport. The applause,
as Mr. Tall took the stage to bid them good night, was deafening. They filed out in high spirits, buying more of the toys and sweets from Larten and his crew before strolling home to catch as much sleep as they could before work early in the morning.

As the last patron left, Larten stowed his tray, then returned to the tent to help clean the stage. This was the only part he disliked, but with lots of people chipping in, they swept up quickly enough. By midnight he was sitting by a huge fire with the cast and crew of the circus, enjoying a hot drink and the warm glow of having been part of another legendary, unique, and freakishly fabulous performance.

Larten woke late in the morning and lay smiling up at the wooden ceiling of his caravan. He studied the rays of light streaming through a crack in the curtains. It reminded him of home, the mornings when he’d stirred before the others to catch the rising sun. But the memories didn’t hurt. There had been times when Larten missed his family, and he still missed Vur. But many years had passed. He liked his new life and never looked back with regret.

Larten had a quick bath in a tub of chilly water out back. He shared the caravan with Verus and Merletta, and although the magician was easygoing in most ways, she was strict when it came to cleanliness.
She insisted that Larten wash every third day. He had grumbled a lot to begin with, but now he didn’t mind.

After Larten had dried himself, he dressed and reported for duty. Supervised by Mr. Tall, some people were already dismantling the tent. Larten helped stack and move chairs, then joined in the rolling of the canvas, an arduous but enjoyable task in which most members of the circus took part.

By midday everything was packed away neatly, and the troupe took to the road in their horse-drawn carriages. Larten rode up front with Verus, enjoying the scenery from his seat beside the ventriloquist. Verus never forced words from the mouths of his friends—he kept his special talent for the stage. He was a quiet man at times like this, saying little, focused on the horse.

When Larten tired of the scenery, he withdrew and asked Merletta to teach him some tricks. He didn’t have any freakish abilities, so he could never be a star at the Cirque Du Freak. But he had a quick hand and a keen eye and was able to copy any trick once he’d seen it performed slowly. Merletta said he could carve out a career for himself as a magician if that was the path he wished to take. Larten knew he wouldn’t–his heart was set on becoming a Vampire
General–but it was fun to play at being a magician’s apprentice.

Merletta ran him through a few of the card tricks that he’d already mastered, then taught him some new moves. He was able to slide cards around swiftly between his fingers and could make them disappear and reappear at will. Merletta was sure that he would soon overtake her in this discipline if he stuck with it. He was a natural at cards.

When it came to locks, chains, and handcuffs, Larten already outshone his tutor. Merletta had never seen anyone pick a lock as swiftly or easily as the orange-haired teenager. There wasn’t much she could teach him about escapology—once he’d learned the basics, he had sprinted ahead of her.

Larten strolled between caravans later, visiting the friends he had made since linking up with the Cirque Du Freak. Some performers were vain and didn’t mingle much–Gervil and Rax were especially pompous–but most were welcoming, as were the crew. Larten had never been more relaxed than he was here. If he hadn’t felt the itch to explore the night, he would have been delighted to put down roots and call the circus home.

He wound up in Mr. Tall’s caravan. The owner of the traveling show was a solitary man. During their
long hours of travel, he kept to himself. He didn’t like physical contact with other people and hadn’t even shaken Seba’s hand when the vampire dropped off Larten. The pair were old friends–Mr. Tall had received his visitor warmly, and they’d swapped tales for hours–but the giant preferred not to touch those he mixed with.

Although Mr. Tall didn’t usually encourage visits, he had told Larten to call on him as often as he liked. Perhaps it was because Larten was Seba’s assistant, or maybe he had seen something in the orange-haired youth that interested him. Either way, the pair spent a couple of hours together most days.

Mr. Tall was working on a Laveesha doll when Larten knocked and entered. The oversized man had enormous hands, but his fingers were even nimbler than Larten’s. Using his fingernails and a tiny, sharpened piece of glass, he could make adjustments to a doll or statue that others could only see with the aid of a magnifying glass.

Mr. Tall passed Larten a small set of jars filled with paint, and he set to work on the pieces awaiting his attention. They often worked in silence like this, but on some days Mr. Tall asked about Larten’s past or told him stories of Seba, Paris, and other vampires. Larten always listened intently, absorbing every
word, eager to learn anything that he could about the clan.

“Seba sends you his regards,” Mr. Tall said after a while. “He is doing well and has almost made it to Vampire Mountain. No broken legs yet.”

The pair shared a chuckle. Even though he wasn’t a vampire, Mr. Tall was able to bond mentally with members of the clan. When two vampires bonded, one was able to find the other no matter where in the world they were. They could also trade basic messages. Larten didn’t know how Mr. Tall was able to bond with vampires, but he had no intention of asking. Mr. Tall was even more secretive than Seba Nile.

“You hunger to follow in his footsteps,” Mr. Tall noted.

“Aye,” Larten nodded, sighing happily at the thought of making the trek to the legendary mountain.

“It’s a hard life,” Mr. Tall said. “Long, perilous, dark. You would have a much more rewarding career if you remained with us and worked on your stage skills.”

Larten hadn’t told Mr. Tall about his lessons with Merletta, but he wasn’t surprised that the circus owner knew.

“Why do you wish to become a vampire?” Mr. Tall asked.

Larten paused, then frowned and admitted, “I’m not sure.” It was a question he had never asked himself. He’d just followed his instincts since that first meeting with Seba in the crypt.

“Do the centuries appeal to you?” Mr. Tall pressed. “Many humans yearn to lead long lives. Do you want to extend your natural time and live four hundred years… five hundred… more?”

Larten shrugged. “I’m not too bothered.”

“Is it the power? You will be stronger than any human when you are blooded. You can force people to do as you wish, to respect and obey you.”

“Seba…” Larten stopped. He’d been about to tell Mr. Tall of Seba’s decision not to become a Vampire Prince. But on reflection he wasn’t sure if he should. That might not be something that Seba wanted to share, even with as close a friend as Hibernius Tall.