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21.2: HENRICK'S HOUSE OF HORRERS (part 2)

Harriet ventured up to the bars of the right-hand cage rather more cautiously this time. She could just make out a hunched shape in the centre of the enclosure.

"Um, hello?"

The shape flinched, the movement revealing it as a humanoid figure, sitting clutching its knees tightly to its chest, its head bowed.

"Hello? Um, can we talk to you? I've got some questions. About... about..." She floundered, not knowing how much to say. "About... desanguinisation."

The figure's head shot up. Harriet just had time to register a blanched face and a tangle of dank hair before it let out a yell of terror and scrabbled away from her, pushing itself up against the back of the cage.

"Um," said Harriet, taken aback. "I'm not going to hurt you. There's no need to be scared."

No change. If anything, the (so-claimed) vampire's eyes widened even further.

"We just want to ask you some questions, that's all." Harriet lowered her voice to a soothing tone. "My friend has been desanguinised too, you see, and we wondered if... Well. We wondered if you knew of... if you'd found out about any cure."

Still no reaction. Harriet looked helplessly at Rupert. "I don't understand. Why is he so scared of me?"

Rupert held up an arm. He then performed a sequence of mimes that would take too long to describe, but which meant: He's scared of you because you're the one who acted as bait to lure in the vampires so that your father could torture us. And, as Rupert was getting rather good at this miming malarkey, Harriet understood. She immediately looked stricken.

"Oh no!" she cried, clutching at the bars of the cage. "You don't understand-that wasn't my fault. I mean, it wasn't my idea, anyway. My father used me. I didn't... I didn't really understand... the full implications..." Her voice died to a whisper and trailed off. She stared at the miserable, terrified vampire. He stared back at her, but only because he was too scared not to.

Harriet leant her head against the bars and started to sob. Rupert jumped up and down on her shoulder and waved. Harriet continued to weep. Finally, it was only by tugging (quite hard) on her hair that Rupert managed to get her attention. Harriet turned her tear-streaked face to him, eyes and cheeks glistening. Rupert executed an exaggerated patting of her shoulder and mimed drying his eyes.

"Oh, but Rupert," Harriet whispered. "The way he's looking at me. As though I'm a monster!" And she began to sob afresh.

Over the sound of her crying, neither Harriet nor Rupert heard the quiet pop! from behind them. If they had, they would have found it strangely familiar.

"Now, now, girly," said a gruff voice. "No need to go caterwaulin' like that."

Harriet span around, still gulping back sobs.

"Who's... who's there?" She half-expected to see another visitor, but unfortunately for Henrick it didn't seem like trade had picked up. She was still alone with the attractions.

There came a hacking laugh. "Dearie me," the voice said. "You can't have forgotten the 'were' bit of 'werewolf'?" With those words, a man stepped forward to the bars of the werewolf's cage. He was a startling sight-teeth and eyes glinting in the red light, fingers tipped with tough, pointed nails-though his actual physique was hard to discern. This was because he was coated in grime from head to foot and almost as thoroughly coated in hair.

"Um... Oh." Harriet blinked. Her tears dried up as she concentrated all her attention on confining her gaze to decent areas. Not that much of the man, in his current state, could really be called decent.

"Oh, sorry, girly." Turning away, the werewolf grabbed a scrap of sackcloth and wrapped it around his middle. "I forget about that. Y'know. Being a wolf a lot of the time, an' all."

"I... I thought you only changed when the moon was full," said Harriet.

"Well, if you want to get traditional about it," said the werewolf. "But why would I wait for the moon to change when I can just change meself when I like? And anyway," he growled, "it's not as though I can see the moon from in here, is it?" His nostrils flared in a way that was alarmingly wolf-like. "Oh yeah, and sorry about earlier. I thought you was just one of the usual gawpers, wantin' me to do tricks." He bristled, quite an impressive sight seeing as he had so much hair. "Tricks! Like a Day-burned dog!"

Harriet didn't really know what to say, so she reverted to the basic etiquette of all well-bred young ladies. "It's, um, nice to meet you. My name's Harriet. And this is Rupert. He's usually, ah, bigger than this. He got turned into a doll. By a witch. It's a bit of a problem. And before that he was a vampire. But he was, er..."

"Desanguinised, right? Yeah, I heard you sayin' to old chatterbox over there. Hard luck, mate," he added to Rupert, who bowed in acknowledgement. The werewolf cocked his head. "Can you imagine what it's like to be locked up in here with only that cracked vamp for company? Trust me, I tried to get him talking but it's no use. Clapped up like an oyster. He's got some serious trauma going on there, if you ask me."

Tears shimmered in Harriet's eyes.

"Woah, woah, woah," the werewolf exclaimed, stretching a consoling hand through the bars. "No need for that. Look, girly, what I'm trying to say is that he doesn't talk to anyone. It ain't just you, trust me."

"So there's no point in me talking to the vampire at all?" Harriet glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see the sorry creature scramble out of her sightline.

"Nah. He's lost it, if you ask me. So." He leaned on the bars. "Since you can't do nothin' for old scatterbrain over there, why don't you help an old friend and let me out of here? Your little woolly mate looks just the size for key-stealing. What do you say?"

"Well, I, um..." Harriet stopped. "Wait, an old friend?"

The werewolf threw up his hands. "You mean to say you don't remember meeting old Bracken in Barthane? Wasn't more than a couple of nights ago, when I was living life to the full instead of rotting away in this cage."

"In Barthane?" Harriet looked blank. Then, suddenly, it dawned on her: the man who had staggered menacingly toward her and Rupert before turning suddenly into a wolf. "Oh, yes!" She paused. "You were very drunk."

The werewolf-Bracken-shrugged. "It's Barthane, after all. Not much else to do there. But what're the chances, eh? It's like destiny or something."

Harriet glanced at Rupert, who managed to make a sceptical gesture.

"Look," Bracken barked, making Harriet take a step backward. "Help a wolf out, won't ya? We're well known for being friends to weary travellers, doncha know. Or eating them," he added, "but I wouldn't do that to such a nice young girly, I swear it." He clutched the bars, pressing his face between them. "Come on. How'd you like to be locked up in here, eh?"

Harriet had to concede that, despite the wolfish nature of the captive, it did indeed seem The Right Thing To Do to help him escape. But before she could think about how to go about springing the werewolf from his cage, an all-too-familiar, bellowing voice from outside the tent stopped her in her tracks.

"Let us through!" the bellow went. "I'm looking for my daughter, the captive of a foul fiend! Let us see your vampire, Night curse you!"

"You'd better do as he says," a second voice added, calmer and infinitely more vampiric than the first. "My Lord has been known to explode upon those who stand in his way."

And, finally, a shrill yell cut over the rest: "Papa, Papa, there he is! There's the awful man who called me names!"

Inside the tent, Harriet, Rupert and Juggalug all froze in horror.

"Oh..." breathed Harriet. "This is not good."