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9.1: THE GOOD TOWN OF BARTHANE (part 1)

In which, amidst general debauchery, several meetings occur.

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Neither Harriet nor Rupert had ever heard something described as good-even with such complete sarcasm-that was so indisputably bad as Barthane town. Within minutes of venturing into the maze of cobbled streets, they had been chased by a pack of drunkards waving stockings above their heads (for no better reason Rupert could discern than that they wanted to wave something), offered four very suspect-looking drinks by four very suspect-looking vendors, skirted several brawls that spontaneously erupted in front of them, and narrowly avoided having their throats slit when the would-be-slitter had his throat slit at the very moment he was about to slit theirs.

So by the time they reached what they presumed was the town's central square, they were both understandably rather shaky. Juggalug had retreated to hide against Rupert's neck, peeking out with terrified eyes. Harriet, too, stuck closely behind Rupert as they shuffled tentatively through the streets.

The square was even more raucous than the preceding alleyways, if that were possible. A din of laughter, bawdy songs, and drunken roars battered their eardrums while a horrendous stench invaded their nostrils. Every building lining the square seemed to be either a tavern or a gaming-house, and none of them hospitable. The pavements outside were thronged with revellers in various stages of consciousness.

Rupert was not particularly comfortable with being the leader of their little troupe. "Could I get a bit of moral support here?" he asked.

Harriet squeaked something into his shoulder.

"Pardon?"

"I said, you're from Night, you must be used to this kind of thing."

"So all vampires are drunkards out to pick fights, are they? Anyway, you're the one who's lured countless vampires into your bedroom. I didn't see you frightened then."

"No, but Father was always just outside the door."

"Well, excuse me for pointing out that you're the one who's run away from him. It's too late to regret it now."

"I don't regret it."

"Then come out!"

"I'm only just behind you."

"You're clutching my cloak so hard you're almost strangling me."

"It's not as though you need to breathe..."

"That's not the point."

Their argument was cut short by the sight of a heavily bearded man reeling across their path, growling and snarling. Rupert and Harriet stepped back as the man fell to his knees almost at their feet. There he continued to snarl, tearing at his clothing in a frenzy. Then, with an anticlimactic pop, he turned into a wolf, glared balefully at them, sniffed, and slunk away.

"Rupert?"

"Er, yes?"

"Did that man just turn into a wolf?"

"Er... yes."

"I thought so. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining things."

Rupert swallowed. "I think it's safe to say that whatever you see here, you're probably not imagining it."

"That's not exactly an encouraging thing to say to a damsel in distress, you know."