A rifle fired and a volley of bullets tore up the outside of the building. We fell to the floor, cursing and yelping, although there was no cause for concern — the marksmen were aiming deliberately high.
When the scream of bullets died away, the Chief Inspector addressed us again. "That was a warning — your last. Next time we shoot to kill. No bargaining. No trade-offs. No talking. You've terrorized this city for most of a year, but it stops here. You're through.
"Two minutes," she said. "Then we come in after you."
A troubled silence descended.
"That's that," Harkat muttered after a handful of slow-ticking seconds. "We're finished."
"Maybe," Vancha sighed. Then his gaze fell on Steve and he grinned. "But we won't die alone."
Vancha brought the fingers of his right hand together and held them out straight so they formed a blade of flesh and bone. He raised the hand above his head like a knife and advanced.
Steve closed his eyes and waited for death with a smile on his face.
"Wait," Mr Crepsley said softly, halting him. "There is a way out."
Vancha paused. "How?" he asked suspiciously.
"The window," Mr Crepsley said. "We jump. They will not expect that."
Vancha considered the plan. "The drop's no problem," he mused. "Not for us, anyway. How about you, Harkat?"
"Five storeys?" Harkat smiled. "I could do that … in my sleep."
"But what do we do once down there?" Vancha asked. "The place is crawling with police and soldiers."
"We flit," Mr Crepsley said. "I will carry Darren. You carry Harkat. It will not be easy — they might shoot us before we can work up to flitting speed — but it can be done. With luck."
"It's crazy," Vancha growled, then winked at us. "I like it!" He pointed at Steve. "But we kill him before we leave."
"One minute!" Alice Burgess shouted through her megaphone.
Steve hadn't moved. His eyes were still closed. He was still smiling.
I didn't want Vancha to kill Steve. Although he'd betrayed us, he'd been my friend once, and the thought of him being killed in cold blood disturbed me. Also, there was Debbie to think about — if we killed Steve, R.V. would certainly kill Debbie in retaliation. It was crazy to worry about her, considering the trouble we were in, but I couldn't help it.
I was about to ask Vancha to spare Steve's life — although I didn't think he'd listen to me — when Mr Crepsley beat me to the punch.
"We cannot kill him," he said, sounding disgusted.
"Come again?" Vancha blinked.
"It is not the end of the world if we are captured," Mr Crepsley said.
"Thirty seconds!" Burgess screamed tensely.
Mr Crepsley ignored the interruption. "If we are captured and taken alive, there may be chances to escape later. But if we kill Steve Leonard, I do not think they will spare us. These humans are ready to butcher us at the drop of a pin."
Vancha shook his head uncertainly. "I don't like it. I'd rather kill him and take our chances."
"I would too," Mr Crepsley agreed. "But there is the Vampaneze Lord to consider. We must put the hunt before our personal wishes. Sparing Steve Leonard is—"
"Ten seconds." Burgess bellowed.
Vancha glowered over Steve a few seconds more, undecided, then cursed, twisted his hand, and whacked him over the back of the head with the flat of his palm. Steve toppled to the floor. I thought Vancha had killed him, but the Prince had only knocked him out.
"That should shut him up for a while," Vancha grunted, checking his shuriken belts and wrapping his animal hides tight around him. "If we get the chance later, we'll track him down and finish him off."
"Time's up!" Alice Burgess warned us. "Come out immediately or we open fire!"
"Ready?" Vancha asked.
"Ready," Mr Crepsley said, drawing his knives.
"Ready," Harkat said, testing the head of his axe with a large, grey finger.
"Ready," I said, taking out my sword and holding it across my chest.
"Harkat jumps with me," Vancha said. "Larten and Darren — you come next. Give us a second or two to roll out of your way."
"Luck, Vancha," Mr Crepsley said.
"Luck," Vancha replied, then grinned savagely, slapped Harkat on the back, and leapt through the window, shattering the blind and glass, Harkat not far behind.
Mr Crepsley and I waited the agreed seconds, then jumped through the jagged remains of the window after our friends, and dropped swiftly to the ground like a couple of wingless bats, into the hellish cauldron which awaited us below.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS THE ground rushed up to meet me, I brought my legs together, hunched my upper body, spread my hands and landed in a crouch. My extra-strong bones absorbed the shock without breaking, although the force of the contact sent me rolling forward and I almost impaled myself on my sword (which would have been an embarrassing way to die).
There was a sharp yell of pain to my left, and as I bounced on to my feet I saw Mr Crepsley lying on the ground, nursing his right ankle, unable to stand. Ignoring my injured friend, I brought up my sword defensively and looked for Vancha and Harkat.
Our leap through the window had taken the police and soldiers by surprise. They were falling over one another and getting in each other's way, making it impossible for anyone to take a clean shot.
Harkat had grabbed a young soldier in the midst of the confusion and was holding him close to his chest, spinning quickly in circles so nobody had time to shoot him in the back. Vancha, meanwhile, had set his sights on the big cheese. As I watched, he charged through several officers and soldiers, leapt over a car, and brought Chief Inspector Alice Burgess crashing to the ground with a perfectly timed tackle.
While all human eyes fixed on Vancha and the Chief Inspector, I hurried to Mr Crepsley's side and helped him up. His teeth were gritted in pain and I could tell instantly that his ankle wouldn't support him.
"Is it broken?" I shouted, dragging him behind a car for cover before someone snapped to his senses and took a shot at us.
"I do not think so," he gasped, "but the pain is intense." He collapsed behind the car and rubbed the flesh around his ankle, trying to massage out the pain.
Across the way, Vancha was on his feet, Alice Burgess' throat clutched in one hand, her megaphone in the other. "Hear this!" he roared through the megaphone at the police and soldiers. "If you shoot, your Chief dies!"
Above us, the blades of the helicopter hummed like the wings of a thousand angry bees. Otherwise — total silence.
Burgess broke it. "Forget about me!" she roared. "Take these creeps out now!"
Several marksmen raised their weapons obediently.
Vancha tightened his fingers around the police chief's throat. Her eyes bulged worryingly. The marksmen hesitated, then lowered their weapons slightly. Vancha loosened his grip, but didn't let go completely. Holding the white-haired woman in front of him, he shuffled over to where Harkat was standing with his human shield. The two got back to back, then slowly crossed to where Mr Crepsley and I were sheltering. They resembled a large and clumsy crab as they moved, but it worked. Nobody fired.
"How bad is it?" Vancha asked, crouching beside us, dragging Burgess down with him. Harkat did likewise with his soldier.
"Bad," Mr Crepsley said soberly, locking gazes with Vancha.
"You can't flit?" Vancha asked softly.
"Not like this."
They stared at each other silently.
"Then we'll have to leave you behind," Vancha said.
"Aye." Mr Crepsley smiled thinly.
"I'm staying with him," I said instantly.
"This is no time for false heroics," Vancha growled. "You're coming — end of story."
I shook my head. "The hell with false heroics — I'm being practical. You can't flit with both me and Harkat on your back. It would take too long to work up the speed. We'd be shot dead before we got to the end of the street."
Vancha opened h
is mouth to object, realized my argument was valid, and closed it.
"I'm staying too," Harkat said.
Vancha groaned. "We don't have time for this rubbish!"
"It's not rubbish," Harkat said calmly. "I travel with Darren. Where he goes, I go. Where he stays, I stay. Besides, you'll stand a better chance … without me."
"How do you figure that?" Vancha asked.
Harkat pointed at Alice Burgess, still gasping from the tightness of Vancha's grip. "Alone, you can carry her and use her as a … shield until you flit."
Vancha sighed downheartedly. "You're all too clever for me. I'm not going to sit here and try to talk you round." He stuck his head up over the bonnet of the car to check on the surrounding troops, squinting hard against the daylight. "Stay back," he warned, "or these two die!"
"You'll … never get … away," Burgess croaked, her pale blue eyes filled with hate, her ghostly white skin flushed a deep, angry red. "The first … clear shot they have … they'll take you out!"
"Then we'll have to make sure we don't give them one," Vancha laughed, covering her mouth with a hand before she could reply. His smile faded. "I can't come back for you," he said to us. "If you stay, you're on your own."
"We know," Mr Crepsley said.
Vancha glanced up at the sun. "You'd better surrender straightaway and pray to the gods that they bundle you into a cell without windows."
"Aye." Mr Crepsley's teeth were chattering, partly from the pain in his ankle, partly from fear of the deadly rays of the sun.
Leaning forward, Vancha whispered so that Burgess and the soldier couldn't hear. "If I escape, I'll return for the Vampaneze Lord. I'll wait in the cavern where we fought last night. I'll give you until midnight. If you aren't there by then, I'll go after him alone."
Mr Crepsley nodded. "We will do our best to break out. If I cannot walk, Darren and Harkat will escape without me." He stared searchingly at us. "Yes?"
"Yes," Harkat said.
I stared back silently a moment longer, then dropped my gaze. "Yes," I muttered reluctantly.
Vancha grunted, then stuck out his free hand. We all joined a hand to his. "Luck," he said, and each of us repeated it in turn.
Then, without waiting, Vancha stood and walked away, Burgess held stiffly in front of him. He'd dropped the megaphone on his way over. Now he stopped to pick it up and address the troops again. "I'm making a break for it!" he bellowed pleasantly. "I know it's your job to stop me, but if you fire, your boss dies too. If you're wise, you'll wait for me to make an error. After all," he chuckled, "you've got cars and helicopters. I'm on foot. I'm sure you can keep pace with me until the time's right to pounce."
Tossing aside the megaphone, Vancha lifted the Chief Inspector off the ground, held her in front of him like a doll, and ran.
A senior officer darted for the megaphone, snatched it up and issued orders. "Hold your fire!" he shouted. "Don't break ranks. Wait for him to stumble or drop her. He can't escape. Train your sights on him, wait for a clean shot, then let him have it in the—"
He stopped abruptly. He'd been watching Vancha race towards a blockade at the end of the street as he was talking, but in the blink of an eye the vampire had disappeared. Vancha had hit flitting speed, and to the humans it seemed as if he'd simply vanished into thin air.
As the police and soldiers crowded forward in disbelief, guns cocked, staring at the ground as though they thought Vancha and their Chief had sunk into it, Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I grinned at each other.
"At least one of us is in the clear," Mr Crepsley said.
"We would have been too, if you weren't such a clumsy ox," I grunted.
Mr Crepsley glanced up at the sun and his smile slipped. "If they leave me in a cell which is open to the sun," he said quietly, "I will not wait to burn to death. I will escape or die trying."
I nodded grimly. "We all will."
Harkat pulled his soldier around so that he was facing us. The young man's face was green with terror and he was incapable of speech.
"Do we leave him or … try to use him as a bargaining chip?" Harkat asked.
"Leave him," I said. "They're less likely to shoot if we give ourselves up freely. If we try bargaining now, after Vancha has escaped with their boss, I think they'll mow us down."
"We must leave our weapons too," Mr Crepsley said, laying his knives aside.
I didn't want to part with my sword, but common sense prevailed and I left it in a heap with Mr Crepsley's knives, Harkat's axe, and the other bits and pieces we'd been carrying. Then we rolled up the arms of our sleeves, raised our hands above our heads, shouted that we were surrendering, and walked out — Mr Crepsley hopping on one leg — to be arrested and imprisoned by the dark-faced, trigger-itchy officers of the law, who handcuffed us, cursed us, bundled us into vans and drove us away — to prison.
CHAPTER FIVE
I WAS in a cell no more than four metres by four, with a ceding maybe three metres high. There were no windows — apart from a small one set in the door — and no two-way mirrors. There were two surveillance cameras in the corners above the door, a long table with a tape recorder on it, three chairs, me — and three grim-looking police officers.
One of the officers was standing by the door, a rifle cradled tightly across his chest, eyes sharp. He hadn't told me his name — he hadn't spoken a word — but I could read it from his badge: William McKay.
The other two weren't wearing badges, but had told me their names: Con and Ivan. Con was tall, dark-faced and very lean, with a gruff manner and ready sneer. Ivan was older and thinner, with grey hair. He looked tired and spoke softly, as though the questions were exhausting him.
"Is Darren Shan your real name, like we've been told?" Ivan enquired for about the twentieth time since I'd been admitted to the holding cell. They'd been asking the same questions over and over, and showed no signs of letting up.
I didn't answer. So far I hadn't said anything.
"Or is it Darren Horston — the name you've been using recently?" Ivan asked after a few seconds of silence.
No answer.
"How about your travelling companion — Larten Crepsley or Vur Horston?"
I looked down at my hands, which were handcuffed, and said nothing. I examined the chain linking the handcuffs: steel, short, thick. I thought I'd be able to snap it if I had to, but I wasn't sure.
My ankles were cuffed as well. The chain linking my ankles had been short when I was arrested. The police left the short chain on while I was being fingerprinted and photographed, but took it off and replaced it with a longer chain soon after they locked me away securely in the cell.
"What about the freak?" the officer called Con asked. "That grey-skinned monster. What's—"
"He isn't a monster!" I snapped, breaking my code of silence.
"Oh?" Con sneered. "What is he then?"
I shook my head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try us," Ivan encouraged me, but I only shook my head again.
"What about the other two?" Con asked. "Vancha March and Larten Crepsley. Our informants told us they were vampires. What do you have to say about that?"
I smiled humourlessly. "Vampires don't exist," I said. "Everyone knows that."
"That's right," Ivan said. "They don't." He leant across the table, as though to tell me a secret. "But those two aren't entirely normal, Darren, as I'm sure you already know. March disappeared like a magician, while Crepsley …" He coughed. "Well, we haven't been able to photograph him."
I smiled when he said that, and looked up at the video cameras. Full-vampires have peculiar atoms, which make it impossible for them to be captured on film. The police could take snaps of Mr Crepsley from every angle they could dream of, with the best cameras available — to no visible effect.
"Look at the grin on him!" Con snapped. "He thinks this is funny!"
"No," I said, wiping the smile from my face. "I don't."
"Then why are you laughing?"
I shrugged. "I was thinking of something else."
Ivan slumped back in his chair, disappointed by my answers. "We've taken a blood sample from Crepsley," he said. "From the thing called Harkat Mulds too. We'll find out what they are when the results come back. It would be to your advantage to tell us now."
I didn't reply. Ivan waited a moment, then ran a hand through his grey hair. He sighed despondently, and began with the questions again. "What's your real name? What's your relationship to the others? Where …"
More time passed. I wasn't able to judge exactly how long I'd been imprisoned. It felt like a day or more, but realistically it was probably only four or five hours, maybe less. The sun was most likely still shining outside.
I thought about Mr Crepsley and wondered how he was faring. If he was in a cell like mine, he'd nothing to worry about. But if they'd put him in a cell with windows …
"Where are my friends?" I asked.
Con and Ivan had been discussing something under their breath. Now they looked at me, expressions guarded.
"You'd like to see them?" Ivan asked.
"I just want to know where they are," I said.
"If you answer our questions, a meeting can be arranged," Ivan promised.
"I just want to know where they are," I repeated.
"They're close," Con grunted. "Locked away nice and tight like you."
"In cells like this?" I asked.
"Exactly the same," Con said, then looked around at the walls and smiled as he realized why I was concerned. "Cells without windows," he chuckled, then nudged his partner in the ribs. "But that can be changed, can't it, Ivan? What say we move the 'vampire' to a cell with lovely round windows? A cell with a view of the outside … the sky … the sun."
I said nothing, but locked gazes with Con and stared back angrily.
"You don't like the sound of that, do you?" Con hissed. "The thought of us sticking Crepsley in a room with windows terrifies you, doesn't it?"
I shrugged indifferently and averted my eyes. "I want to speak to a lawyer," I said.
Con burst out laughing. Ivan hid a smile behind a hand. Even the guard with the rifle smirked, as though I'd cracked the best joke ever.