Blood Exposed Page 8

  “Why did you do that? Why did you make us look stupid?”

  “Did I?” Severn kept his head down as he spoke. “I thought you were doing a pretty good job of making yourselves look stupid. I didn’t think you needed any help.”

  “You know what I mean! You’ve told us you’re vampires. You’ve shown us your fangs. And then you pretend it didn’t happen. Now I look like a liar and an idiot. Why didn’t you show them your fangs?”

  Severn took his time. His head still bowed, he placed his hands firmly on the edge of the table and pushed himself to his feet, inhaled two long breaths, took off his glasses, then flung his head up and leant over the desk towards Kyle, his eyes bright and his fangs fully extended.

  “Don’t ... ever ... try to out us again,” he said, his voice the same icy calm he had used on the author.

  “It’s called blending in,” the Rev said, stepping up beside Kyle and pulling back his cowl to show that he, too, was in hunting mode. “It’s basic survival. If you want to join us, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  “We make the decision on who knows, Not you. Not anyone who wants to stay alive for much longer.”

  Severn stepped from behind the desk towards Kyle who backed off, his hands raised to ward off Severn’s approach. When Severn reached the Rev they stood together, joined by Aiden shoulder to shoulder, a wall of threat and malice. Then, in front of Kyle, who shook visibly, Severn relaxed out of hunting mode and returned to his usual nerdy computer-geek expression. Polishing his glasses on the sleeve of his robe, he grinned at Kyle and turned to the rest of us.

  “Party’s over, Back to work.”

  Kyle, still shaking, knocked over several chairs as he stumbled towards Kristi who was crouched on the floor. As he approached, she put out a hand and whimpered in a tiny voice.

  “Kyle, I’m all wet. I peed my pants.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I tried not to burst out laughing until they were well down the corridor, Kyle leading Kristi as if she was a wounded soldier, but I failed. We all did. I might have held it in if I had kept my head down but I looked at Aiden and we both lost it. Severn had sat back at the table and had his head in his arms, his shoulders shaking. I thought he was crying until, at the sound of Aiden’s laughter, his own exploded in a roar. The Rev stood to one side, rubbing his hands together and grinning like a delighted child in a toy shop.

  “That was mean, guys.” I pulled myself together, avoiding Aiden’s face so I wouldn’t start laughing again.

  “No, it was necessary,” the Rev replied. “And later tonight we will follow up with our friend Kyle and make sure he understands that we are serious. But guys,” he beckoned the others to come closer, waiting until they stood in front of him before he spoke again. “We were careless. I’m not saying we shouldn’t take this opportunity to have fun – after all, nobody is going to believe Kyle now – but let’s keep a lid on it for the rest of the day. Okay?”

  “Definitely,” Severn agreed. “Now, let’s get back to work. Rev, Aiden, back to your own conference rooms. Riley, can you help me here then grab us all some coffee – I think we need it.”

  “I’m hungry now,” Aiden said, “Coffee’s not enough.”

  “Harden up, Princess. It’s all you’re going to get for a few more hours.”

  Aiden snarled something I didn’t pick up as he left the room. The Rev laughed and Severn gave him the fingers making me wish I had their gift of heightened senses. The benefits of being a vampire were starting to outweigh the nasty bits.

  Reduced once again to the lowly task of coffee-bringer, I left the vampires setting up for their next workshops, ditched my monk’s robe and set off towards the foyer and the coffee machine. I wasn’t the only one on the same mission. A queue of people I recognised from the vampire talk were waiting impatiently for the hotel staff to refill the urn while others, coffee cups in their hands, were standing around in groups, still discussing Kristi’s determined argument that vampires were real.

  I joined the end of the coffee queue, trying to look inconspicuous, but I was spotted by an overweight guy in leggings and a fake fur tunic. He waddled towards me, his stomach bouncing over a wide leather belt that was the only thing keeping his tunic closed over his hairy chest and belly. A pewter tankard, a silver spoon and a short sword hung from the belt, clanging against his massive thighs as he approached.

  “You’re one of the monks, aren’t you?” He waggled a podgy finger in my face so I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t me he was talking to.

  “I am one of the technicians, yes.” I tried to emulate Severn’s most professional voice.

  “So are you a vampire, like that boy said?”

  “Do I look like a vampire? Seriously? I’m seventeen. I’m a trainee sound engineer and I live at home with my parents. Does that sound like a vampire to you?”

  “So why did he say you were?”

  “Well, the guys may have played those two goths in the carpark last night. But it’s a fantasy convention, right? I mean, you’re not really a ... whatever your costume is, are you?”

  In front of me, the coffee queue had dwindled, so I channelled a Severn response and turned away from the man, ending the conversation without waiting for his reply. I filled three cups, worked out how to carry them all at once without spilling them, and left as quickly as I could. I could come back for mine when he had gone.

  I delivered the coffees without spilling too much but none of the guys needed my help, so I wandered back to get my own then sneaked upstairs to drink it in the suite with Anita and Caleb. She was by herself.

  “He’s trying to find a new musician in a hurry,” Anita said. “You don’t know anyone who can play a shawm, by any chance?”

  “I don’t even know what a shawm is,” I replied, sinking into the couch beside her. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s kind of like a medieval oboe and Caleb’s in a panic. We’ve been practising some special music for the entertainment after the dinner tonight. Caleb had found an oboe player from the orchestra who loves medieval music as much as he does, and just happened to have an actual shawm, so Caleb asked him to play with us. Then, about half an hour ago, he rang to say he’s fallen off his motor scooter and is in hospital with a broken arm, so there’s no way he’ll be able to play tonight.”

  “What’s Caleb going to do?”

  “He’s phoning around to see if anyone else could play the salterello, that’s the piece of music, even on a recorder instead of a shawm, but he’s not having much luck finding anyone. It was going to be the main piece for our set, so it’s not going to sound as good if we have to pull it. But he’ll figure it out. What have you been up to? What’s happening downstairs?”

  “Just the Goth Ks getting all dramatic about vampires.”

  “I saw them going to their room. She was all hunched over and shuffling. Did she hurt herself?”

  “Only her feelings.” I burst out laughing again as I thought about their reaction to the guys. “She made a huge drama about how she was a misunderstood vampire trapped in a human body, then topped it off by wetting her pants.”

  “Oh damn, I wish I’d been there to see that. It’s boring up here.”

  “Can’t you leave?”

  “I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to be the help desk.”

  “Has anyone been asking for help?”

  “No. There was a rush at the beginning but I haven’t seen anyone for ages.”

  “Then stick a note on the door saying you’ll be back in ten minutes and come with me.”

  “What can we do in ten minutes? That’s not very long.”

  “We can take as long as we like – ‘back in ten’ doesn’t say when we left, or promise an exact time to be back.”

  “You’re on then. Let’s get out of here, but I don’t want to go over to the park in case I run into Ngaire. What’s happening downstairs?”

  In the main room, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and a booming voice that
didn’t need the help of a microphone was sounding forth on medieval diet, complete with a slide show of pictures of feasts that seemed to feature a lot of dead animals. Behind the desk Severn leant back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He looked bored but I knew he would still be listening, professionally alert to any changes in the speaker’s tone. We paused in the doorway, decided the talk wasn’t for us, and continued down the hall. Without turning his head, Severn waved to me as we backed away.

  Through the next doorway, the Rev’s room looked like the aftermath of a children’s party. Strange and ugly creations made from cardboard and recycled junk lined two edges of the room and in the centre, Caleb’s dad and another leather-clad Viking were sticking ice-cream sticks together with PVA glue to form a giant structure that was already as tall as the table beside it.

  “What are you guys doing?” Anita asked as we approached.

  “Building a trebuchet,” Gerald answered without looking up from the small stick he was holding in place as the glue dried.

  “A medieval siege engine,” Other Viking explained. “We’re hoping it will actually work, if we can get it finished.”

  “It will either work, or fall apart on the first attempt,” Gerald laughed. “But we’re having fun making it.”

  “Just the two of you?” I asked.

  “No, we’ve got a team, and a plan. Rhys was here before but he had to go back to his forge and he’s taken the other two with him. I was hoping Caleb might come and give us a hand but he seems to have disappeared.”

  “He’s looking for someone who can play a shawm,” Anita said.

  “I thought he had someone.”

  “Well, yes, he did, but that guy’s broken his arm, so now Caleb’s in a panic because he’s got no-one to play the salterello tonight, and that was our main piece.”

  “Which salterello?” The Reverend’s voice surprised me. He had been sitting so quietly in the corner I had forgotten he was there.

  “The Dead Can Dance salterello from the fourteenth century,” Anita replied, then lifted her voice in a cheeky question. “Why, do you know it?”

  “As a matter of fact ...” The Rev put his arms behind his head and leant back, smiling broadly. “It’s been a while since I played it but if you can get me a shawm, I’ll give it a go.”

  “Are you serious?” Anita approached him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. I stood to the side, amused at Anita’s expression but not surprised by the Rev’s hidden talent. I wasn’t game to ask in public just how long it had been since he played that piece, but I was guessing it was when it was first in the Top Ten.

  While the two Vikings continued to placidly glue ice-cream sticks together, Anita gushed a few incoherent partial sentences down her phone to Caleb before thrusting the phone to the Rev. I heard him mention the salterello then he nodded over the words “estampie reals? Yes, la quatre and la quinte,” so I figured they were other tunes he was confirming he could play. Anita was bouncing on the balls of her feet, shaking her hands in a happy dance as the Rev concluded his conversation and handed back the phone.

  “You’d better show me the sheet music,” he said, extricating himself from his chair. “Riley, you’ll have to take my place here for a while.”

  “And your costume,” Anita said. “Although it’s not going to fit you very well. The other guy’s a lot taller.”

  “Everyone is a lot taller, but that’s all right because I’m not going to wear it. You minstrels, me monk. Have habit, will travel – will play – but will not wear leggings. No way!”

  I slid into the unoccupied chair and let them go, Anita chattering excitedly about the pieces the Rev needed to learn before the evening performance. A glance at my watch and at the annotated programme the Rev had left by the sound desk told me I would know a lot more about trebuchets than I cared about before I could escape. The easiest option was to join in.

  It was like being back at primary school – or backstage in the props room. I squeezed PVA glue onto ice-cream sticks and pressed them wherever Gerald told me to put them. Other Viking, whose name I never discovered, made pathetic dad jokes that Gerald laughed hysterically at, and they both gave me a tag-teamed history lesson on siege engines and why trebuchets were better than catapults. I was using the knife on my Leatherman multi-tool to carve a square set of sticks into a circular wheel when Rhys arrived back.

  “Just came to tell you it’s all sorted,” he said to Gerald. “The dragons will be out of here later today.”

  “Good,” Gerald replied. “I hope you packed them well. Let me know when they arrive safely at their destination.”

  “Of course I packed them well. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I hope so,” Gerald muttered under his breath as Rhys turned and stamped off down the passage.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By the time Aiden poked his head around the door to tell me it was time to pack up, our trebuchet was looking surprisingly like the picture Gerald had spread out on the table and I looked like a disaster. I had white PVA glue in my hair, all over my hands, and smeared down the front of my black t-shirt. Not quite the professional look Severn was insisting on, but when he saw me, he burst out laughing.

  “What happened to you?” he spluttered.

  “It’s glue. I’ve been building a trebuchet with Gerald. Do I really look that bad?”

  “No comment.” Severn pulled himself together but kept giving me strange looks where he raised one eyebrow, grinned and gave his head a slight shake that wasn’t quite a shudder. I needed to find a mirror. “Where’s the Rev?” he asked.

  “Right here,” The Rev answered with perfect timing as he came through the door into the main conference room. “What’s the plan?”

  “The plan,” Severn explained, “is that we are done for the day. It’s five o’clock now and the dinner isn’t until eight. The committee knew the weather was still going to be too hot to hold the jousting and hand-to-hand fighting in the middle of the day, so the main event is about to happen over in the park very soon. That means everything we are needed for here in the hotel is finished for today. We can go home and have the evening to ourselves.”

  “I can’t,” the Rev said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m filling in for the shawm player in Caleb’s music troupe. I have to be back here by nine o’clock at the latest. We’re the after-dinner entertainment.”

  “I’d like to watch the jousting,” I said. “I know it’s outside and the sun’s still fairly hot and bright, so if that’s a problem for you guys, leave me here and I’ll hang out with Anita. Actually, if I’m as dirty as your looks keep suggesting, I might ask if I can grab a quick shower up in their room.”

  Severn looked at the other two for confirmation before replying.

  “You’re right. It’s still not going to be dark by the time they stop for their dinner and there’s not a lot of shade over there. You go and enjoy yourself. We’ll lock up here and go back to the motel for a couple of hours. It will be dark and cool in there. I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”

  As the vampires waved away my offer to help pack up, I ducked across the hall to the ladies’ toilets to find a mirror. How had I managed to get more glue on myself than I put on the trebuchet? My hair was clumped in sticky bunches and there was even glue in my eyebrows. No wonder Severn had laughed at me. I needed to soak my shirt. I didn’t have a spare one with me but I had an idea. Before the vampires locked the rooms and disappeared, I raced back into the conference room and grabbed my monk’s robe. At least the cowl would stop me getting sunburnt.

  Upstairs, Anita and Caleb’s reactions were the same as Severn’s, but when they stopped laughing, they let me use the shower to wash off the glue. Without the t-shirt to protect me, the woollen robe was rough against my bare skin but it was surprisingly cool. It had no pockets for my stuff, so I pulled my jeans back on underneath it then ran my fingers through my wet hair in a pathetic attempt at combing it. Anita took one look at me when
I emerged from the bathroom and sent me back in with instructions on where to find a brush and the hotel-supplied hair dryer.

  When I emerged for a second time, Anita thrust a cold can of soft drink into my hand and ordered me to hurry up or we would miss the start of the jousting. They were both wearing their medieval costumes so I didn’t feel too conspicuous in my monk’s robe as we bounced down the stairs and ran across the road to the park where the crowd was even thicker than it had been earlier in the day. Anita held tight to Caleb’s hand and I followed as best as I could as we pushed our way past the public lined up at the gates, using our costumes as our excuse to jump the queue.

  “Excuse me, workers coming through,” Anita repeated like a mantra as the crowds parted reluctantly let us pass.

  Behind the marquee, where the park opened to a vast expanse of flat land, the scene was like a time warp. Temporary raised seating surrounded an arena, its metal security fences that held the public at a safe distance festooned with gaudy banners that, at a distance anyway, looked like coats of arms. Inside the arena, costumed grooms walked two huge feathery-legged horses draped in vibrant, decorated rugs that covered their heads, leaving only their eyes exposed, and fell over their rumps to hang half-way down their legs. One horse was in bright blue with a gold lightning bolt on each side of its rump, the other’s coat was a spectacular purple with large white crosses. From the crowd’s reaction I gathered these two were the favourites, not the villain of the evening.

  The horses did one more circuit around the wall of posts and rails that divided the arena down the centre, then were led off to the side where a group of men dressed as crusader knights paced quietly in small circles on other, finer-built horses, all draped in matching red and black covers. We climbed the raised platform to find some seats with a decent view and, after I had settled my monk’s robe comfortably around my knees, I looked back to see the riders had formed the horses into a line. For a second the crowd fell silent then Vangelis’s song Conquest of Paradise blared out from a set of speakers on the roof of a conveniently parked van and the horses galloped into the arena. I had seen them several times on television, careering around the rugby field before the big matches of our local Canterbury Crusaders rugby team, but up close, as they raced past, the effect was awe-inspiring. The vibrations of their hooves pounding into the grass moved the ground beneath me as they swept past. I stole a look at Anita who was grinning like Alice’s Cheshire Cat. Around me the crowd roared, and I roared with them.