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20.1: TRAILS (part 1)

In which Fang is not very good at having fun.

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Fang had discovered a way to distract himself from the stench of garlic that infused Winkton's coach. Unfortunately, this distraction involved Fang concentrating on something that was even more unpleasant than the garlic. What was currently distracting Fang was the way Gustav was staring at him-the way Gustav had continually been staring at him for the last three leagues. They had taken the road north out of the eerie town (Thanks for visiting Pinwick! a cheery little signpost had told them as they left), as Fang had been directed by that unusually vocal hawk. They had not, however, seen any trace of Rupert or the Winkton girl. Gustav, who had been fairly calm when they set out, had become increasingly agitated as the coach rattled on. And his eyes, set on Fang, had become increasingly flinty. Fang, unable to justify his decision any further (a talking bird was not the most convincing story, even when it was true), could do nothing but concentrate on a) retaining his composure under Gustav's stare and b) wondering frantically what he would do if they did not find Rupert soon. He wasn't sure how long Gustav's patience would hold before his angry side erupted again and he didn't particularly want to find out.

They heard the coachman speak to the horses, and then the coach slowed and stopped.

"What's the matter, Chalks?" Winkton shouted. "Have you seen something?"

"There's a town, m'Lord," the coachman hollered back. "With a fair going on."

"A fair?" Winkton lifted the drapes over the coach window to look. Fang leaned back quickly as late morning sunlight filtered past his seat. "I say," exclaimed Winkton, peering out. "It looks rather jolly." Neither Gustav nor Fang looked impressed at his frivolity, but Winkton didn't seem to notice. "Looks rather a good place to get some lunch, don't you think?" he continued. "I bet they've got roast hog. That was always my favourite as a lad."

"We do not have time for jollity, my Lord," Gustav said. "The Nightspawn will be getting further and further from us as we speak. He could be anywhere." He shot a glare in Fang's direction.

"He came this way," insisted Fang, trying to sound confident.

"Then he might be at the fair," Winkton attempted. "My daughter, after all, always loved a good fair."

"I do not think your daughter will be having much say in the matter, as the prisoner of a vampiric fiend," Gustav pointed out.

Winkton sat back and folded his arms. "Well," he said tartly, "and I suppose we'll find her faster if we just sit in the coach and talk about it, eh?"

Fang blinked. Was Winkton actually talking sense for once?

"I would like to remind you both," Winkton went on, "that I am not inexperienced in the art of vampire-hunting. And one thing I do know is that one actually has to go and look for the vampire before one can find it. Though ginger sometimes helps," he added thoughtfully.

Fang raised an eyebrow. "I think," he said, "that maybe you are right, Lord Winkton. Perhaps a scout of the fairground is not a bad idea after all."

Gustav still looked suspicious. "You said he would be on the road."

"I said that he had taken this road. I never said he wouldn't stop somewhere along the way. And a fair is, of course, an appealing place."

"Not for a vampire," Gustav protested.

Fang thought of Rupert, the over-mothered blunderer that he was. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."