Weirder and weirder. I was really intrigued by Mr. Tiny and his Little People. I'd always liked mysteries. Maybe I could solve this one. Maybe, with my vampire powers, I could find a way to talk to one of the hooded creatures.
"Where do the Little People come from?" I asked.
"Nobody knows," Evra said. "There's usually about four or six of them with the Cirque. Sometimes more turn up by themselves. Sometimes Mr. Tiny brings in new ones. It was weird that none were here when you came."
"You think it had something to do with me and Mr. Crepsley coming?" I asked.
"I doubt it," Evra said. "It was probably just a coincidence. Or fate." He paused. "Which is another thing: Mr. Tiny's first name is Desmond."
"So?"
"He tells people to call him Des."
"So?" I asked again.
"Put it together with his last name," Evra told me.
I did. Mr. Des Tiny. Mr. Des-Tiny. Mr …
"Mr. Destiny," I whispered, and Evra nodded seriously.
I was dying of curiosity and asked Evra a bunch more questions, but his answers were limited. He knew almost nothing about Mr. Tiny, and only a little more about the Little People. They ate meat. They smelled funny. They moved around slowly most of the time. They either didn't feel pain or couldn't show it. And they had no sense of humor.
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Bradley Stretch," Evra answered darkly. "He used to be with the show. He had rubbery bones and could make his arms and legs stretch.
"He wasn't very nice. He was always playing practical jokes on us, and he had a nasty way of laughing. He didn't just make you look like an idiot: He made you feel like one too.
"We played a show in an Arabian palace. It was a private show for a sheik. He enjoyed all the acts, but especially liked Bradley's. The two started talking, and Bradley told the sheik he couldn't wear jewelry, because it always slipped off or broke because of the changing shape of his body.
"The sheik ran away and came back with a small gold bracelet. He gave it to Bradley and told him to put it on his wrist. Bradley did. Then the sheik told him to try shaking it off.
"So Bradley made his arm small and big, short and long, but he couldn't shake the bracelet loose. The sheik said it was magic and could only be removed if the wearer wanted to take it off. It was really valuable, priceless, but he gave it to Bradley as a gift.
"Getting back to the Little People," Evra said. "Bradley loved to tease them. He was always finding new ways to trick them. He made traps to hang them up in the air by their feet. He set their capes on fire. He squirted liquid laundry detergent on ropes they were using to make their hands slip, or glue to make them stick. He put thumbtacks in their food and he made their tent collapse and locked them in a van."
"Why was he so mean?" I asked.
"I think because they never reacted," Evra said. "He liked to see people get upset, but the Little People never cried or screamed or lashed out. They didn't seem to notice his pranks. At least, everybody thought they didn't notice …"
Evra made a funny noise that was half a laugh, half a moan.
"One morning we woke up and Bradley had disappeared. Nowhere to be found. We searched for him, but when he didn't turn up, we moved on. We weren't worried; performers join and leave the Cirque pretty much as they please. It wasn't the first time somebody had sneaked away in the middle of the night.
"I didn't think any more about it until a week or so later. Mr. Tiny had come to see us the day before and took all but two of the Little People with him. Mr. Tall told me I had to help the leftover pair with their duties. I cleaned up their tent and rolled up their hammocks — they all sleep in hammocks. That's where I got mine from. Did I mention that before?" He hadn't, but I didn't want to sidetrack him, so I said nothing.
"After that," he went on, "I washed their pot. It was a big black pot, set on a fire in the middle of the tent. The place had to have been full of smoke whenever they cooked because the pot was covered in grime.
"I took it outside and tried to scrape the grime — scraps of meat and pieces of bone — onto the grass. I scrubbed it thoroughly, then took it back inside. Next I decided to pick up the pieces of meat in the grass and throw them to the wolf-man. 'Waste not, want not,' like Mr. Tall always says.
"As I was picking up the meat and bone, I saw something glistening …"
Evra turned away and rifled through a bag on the ground. When he turned back, he was holding a small gold bracelet. He let my eyes linger on it, then slipped it on over his left hand. He shook his arm as fast as he could but the bracelet never moved.
When he stopped shaking his arm, he slid the bracelet off with the fingers of his right hand and tossed it to me. I examined it but didn't put it on.
"The bracelet the sheik gave to Bradley Stretch?" I guessed.
"The same," Evra said.
I handed it back.
"I don't know whether it was because of something really bad he did," Evra said, fingering the bracelet, "or if they were just tired of the nonstop teasing. What I do know is, ever since, I've gone out of my way to be polite to the small, silent people in the dark blue capes."
"What did you do with the remains of … I mean, with the scraps of meat?" I asked. "Did you bury them?"
"Heck, no," Evra said. "I fed them to the wolf-man, like I meant to." Then, in response to my horrified look, he said, "Waste not, want not, remember?"
I stared at him for a second, then began to laugh. Evra laughed, too. In a minute we were both rolling around on the floor in hysterics.
"We shouldn't laugh." I caught my breath. "Poor Bradley Stretch. We should be crying."
"I'm laughing too hard to cry," Evra gasped.
"I wonder what he tasted like?"
"I don't know," Evra said. "But I bet he was rubbery."
That made us laugh even more. Tears rolled from our eyes and trickled down our cheeks. It was a terrible thing to laugh at, but we couldn't help it.
In the middle of our fit of hysteria, the flap to the door of our tent was pulled aside by an inquisitive head, and Hans Hands entered. "What's the joke?" he asked, but we couldn't tell him. I tried, but every time I started, I began to laugh again.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then, when we finally quieted down, he told us why he was there.
"I have a message for you two," he said. "Mr. Tall wants you to report to his van as soon as possible."
"What's up, Hans?" Evra asked. He was still laughing. "Why does he want us?"
"He doesn't," Hans said. "Mr. Tiny is with him. He's the one who wants you."
Our laughter stopped instantly. Hans let himself out without any further words.
"Mr. Tuh-tuh-tuh-Tiny wants us," Evra gasped.
"I heard," I said. "What do you think he wants?"
"I don't kn-kn-kn-know," Evra stuttered, though I could tell what was going through his mind. It was the same thing that was rushing through mine. We were thinking of the Little People, Bradley Stretch, and the big black pot full of scraps of human meat and bone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mr. tall, Mr. Crepsley, and Mr. Tiny were in the van when we entered. Evra was shaking like a leaf, but I wasn't really nervous. But when I saw the worried looks on Mr. Tall's and Mr. Crepsley's faces and realized how uneasy they were, it put me on edge a little.
"Come in, boys," Mr. Tiny welcomed us, as though it was his van and not Mr. Tall's. "Sit down, make yourselves at home."
"I'll stand if that's okay," Evra said, trying not to let us hear the chatter of his teeth.
"I'll stand, too," I said, following Evra's lead.
"As you wish," Mr. Tiny said. He was the only one sitting.
"I've been hearing a lot about you, young Darren Shan," Mr. Tiny said. He was rolling something between his hands: a heart-shaped watch. I could hear it ticking whenever there was a pause in his speech.
"You're quite the boy, by all accounts," Mr. Tiny went on. "A most remarkable young man. Sacrificed
everything to save a friend. There aren't many who would do as much. People are so self-centered these days. It's good to see the world can still produce heroes."
"I'm no hero," I said, blushing at the compliment.
"Of course you are," he insisted. "What is a hero but a person who lays everything on the line for the good of somebody else?"
I smiled proudly. I couldn't understand why Evra was so afraid of this nice, strange man. There was nothing terrible about Mr. Tiny. I kind of liked him.
"Larten tells me you're reluctant to drink human blood," Mr. Tiny continued. "I don't blame you. Nasty, repulsive stuff. Can't stand it. Apart from young children, of course. Their blood is scrump-dilly-icious."
I frowned. "You can't drink blood from them," I said. "They're too small. If you took blood from a young child, you'd kill it."
His eyes widened and so did his smile.
"So?" he asked softly.
A chill ran down my spine. If he had been joking, it would have been in really poor taste, but I could have overlooked it (hadn't I just been laughing about poor Bradley Stretch?). But I could tell from his expression that he was totally serious.
All of a sudden I knew why this man was so feared. He was evil. Not just bad or nasty, but pure demonic evil. This was a man I could imagine killing thousands of people just to hear them scream.
"You know," Mr. Tiny said, "your face seems familiar. Have we met before, Darren Shan?"
I shook my head.
"Are you certain?" he asked. "You look very familiar."
"I … would have … remembered," I stuttered.
"You can't always trust memory." Mr. Tiny smiled. "It can be a deceptive monster. Still, no matter. Maybe I'm confusing you with someone else."
By the way his lips twisted into a grin (how did I ever think that was a nice smile?), I could see he didn't think that. But I was sure he was wrong. There's no way I would have forgotten meeting a creature like him.
"Down to business," Mr. Tiny said. His hands tightened on the heart-shaped watch and for a second they seemed to glow and melt into its ticking face. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. When I looked again, the illusion — which it must have been — was gone.
"You boys saw me arrive with my Little People," Mr. Tiny said. "They're new converts to my cause and are a little unsure of the ropes. Normally I'd stick around and teach them how to work, but I have business elsewhere. Still, they're smart and I'm sure they'll learn.
"However, while they're learning, I'd like it if you two fine, young men would help ease them into the swing of things. You won't have to do much. Mainly I want you to find food for them. They have such big appetites.
"How about it, boys? I've got the permission of your guardians." He nodded at Mr. Tall and Mr. Crepsley, who didn't seem happy about the arrangement, but looked resigned. "Will you help poor old Mr. Tiny and his Little People?"
I looked at Evra. I could see he didn't want to do it, but he nodded his head anyway. I did the same.
"Excellent!" Mr. Tiny boomed. "Young Evra Von knows what my darlings like, I'm sure. If you have any problems, report to Hibernius and he'll help you out."
Mr. Tiny waved a hand to let us know we could leave. Evra began edging backward immediately, but I held my ground.
"Excuse me," I said, summoning all my courage, "but why do you call them Little People?"
Mr. Tiny turned around slowly. If he was surprised by my question, he didn't show it, though I could see the mouths of Mr. Tall and Mr. Crepsley dropping.
"Because they're little," he explained calmly.
"I know that," I said. "But don't they have another name? An official name? If somebody mentioned 'Little People' to me, I'd think they were talking about elves or leprechauns."
Mr. Tiny smiled. "They are elves and leprechauns," he said. "All around the world, you will find legends and stories of small, magical people. Legends have to start somewhere. These legends started with my short, loyal friends."
"Are you telling me those dwarfs in blue capes are elves?" I asked disbelievingly.
"No," he said. "Elves don't exist. Those dwarfs — as you so rudely put it — were seen, long ago, by ignorant people, who invented names for them: elves or fairies or sprites. They made up stories about what they were and what they could do."
"What can they do?" I asked.
Mr. Tiny's smile slipped. "I heard you were quite the one for asking questions," he growled, "but nobody told me you were this nosy. Remember, Darren Shan: Curiosity killed the cat."
"I'm not a cat," I said boldly.
Mr. Tiny leaned forward, and his face darkened. "If you ask more questions," he hissed, "you might find yourself turned into one. Nothing in life is forever, not even the human form."
The watch in his hands glowed again, red like a real heart, and I decided it was time to leave.
"Go to bed now and get a good night's sleep," Mr. Crepsley told me before I left. "There will be no lessons tonight."
"And rise early, boys," Mr. Tiny added, waving goodbye. "My Little People are always hungry in the mornings. It's not wise to let their hunger go unattended. You never know what they might set their minds — and teeth — on if they go unfed for too long."
We hurried out the door and raced back to our tent, where we fell to the floor and listened to our hearts beating loudly.
"Are you crazy?" Evra asked when he could speak. "Talking to Mr. Tiny like that, asking him questions, you must be out of your mind!"
"You're right," I said, thinking back on the encounter, wondering where I'd gotten the nerve from. "I must be."
Evra shook his head in disgust. It was early, but we crawled into bed anyway. We lay awake for hours, Staring at the ceiling of the tent. When I finally fell asleep I dreamed of Mr. Tiny and his heart-shaped watch. Only, in my dreams, it wasn't a watch. It was a real human heart. Mine. And when he squeezed it …
Agony.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I got up early and went hunting for food for the Little People. We were tired and cranky, and it took time for us to come to life.
After a while I asked Evra what the Little People liked to eat.
"Meat," he replied. "Any kind of animal, they don't care."
"How many animals will we need to catch?" I asked.
"Well, there's twelve of them, but they don't eat a lot. I guess one rabbit or hedgehog between two of them. A larger animal — a fox or a dog — might feed three or four."
"Can you eat hedgehogs?" I asked.
"The Little People can," Evra said. "They're not fussy. They'd eat rats and mice, too, but we'd have to catch a lot to feed so many, so they're not worth bothering with."
We each took a sack and headed off in different directions. Evra told me the meat didn't have to be fresh, so if I found a dead badger or squirrel, I could stick it in the bag and save some time.
I spotted a fox a couple of minutes into the hunt. It had a chicken in its mouth and was on its way home. I tracked it until the moment was right, then jumped on it from behind a bush and dragged it to the ground.
The dead chicken flew out of its mouth and the fox turned, snarling, to bite me. Before it could attack, I moved quickly, grabbed its neck, and twisted sharply to the left. There was a loud crack, and that was the end of the fox.
I chucked the chicken into the bag — a nice bonus — but hung on to the fox for a few minutes. I needed blood, so I found a vein, made a small cut, and started sucking.
Part of me hated this — it seemed so inhuman — but I reminded myself that I wasn't human anymore. I was a half-vampire. This was how my kind acted. I'd felt bad killing foxes and rabbits and pigs and sheep the first few times. But I got used to it. I had to.
Could I get used to drinking human blood? That was the question. I hoped I could avoid feeding on humans, but by the way I was running out of energy, I knew eventually I'd have to … or die.
I tossed the fox's corpse into the bag, then went on hunting. I found a family of rabbits washing t
heir ears in a nearby pond. I crept as close as I could, then struck without warning. They scattered in fear, but not before I got my sharp fingernails into three of the little ones.
I added them to the contents of the bag and decided that was enough for this trip. I figured the fox, chicken, and rabbits would easily feed six or seven of the blue-hoods.
I met Evra back at camp. He'd found a dead dog and a badger and was feeling pretty pleased with himself. "The easiest day of hunting I've ever had," he said. "Plus I found a field full of cows. We'll go there tonight and steal one. That'll keep the Little People going for a day or two at least."
"Won't the farmer who owns them notice?" I asked.
"There are at least a hundred of them," Evra said. "By the time he gets around to counting them, we'll be long gone."
"But cows cost money," I said. "I don't mind killing wild animals, but stealing from a farmer is different."
"We'll leave money for him," Evra said with a sigh.
"Where will we get it?" I asked.
Evra smiled. "The one thing we're never short of at the Cirque Du Freak is money," he assured me.
Later, our chores finished, we teamed up with Sam again. He'd been waiting in the bushes for hours.
"Why didn't you come into the camp?" I asked.
"I didn't want to interrupt," he said. "Besides, I thought somebody might have let the wolf-man out. He didn't seem to like me when I saw him yesterday."
"He's like that with everyone," Evra told him.
"Maybe," Sam said, "but I figure it's best not to take chances."
Sam was in a questioning mood. He'd obviously been thinking about us a lot since the day before.
"Don't you ever wear shoes?" he asked Evra.
"No," Evra said. "The soles of my feet are extra tough."
"What happens if you step on a thorn or a nail?" Sam asked.
Evra smiled, sat down, and gave Sam his foot. "Try scratching it with a sharp twig," he said.
Sam broke off a branch and poked Evra's sole. It was like trying to make a hole in tough leather.
"A sharp piece of glass might slice me," Evra said,
"but that doesn't happen very often, and my skin's getting tougher every year."