"That is the best we can do," Mr. Crepsley said. "If it gets infected, we will chop it off again and you will have to make do without."

"That's right," I growled. "Look on the bright side."

"It's my head you should be chopping off," Vancha said bitterly. "I should have put duty before kinship. I don't deserve to live."

"Nonsense!" Mr. Crepsley huffed. "Any man who would strike a brother is no man at all. You did what any of us would have done. It is unfortunate that you ran into him now, but we have not been harmed by your slip, and I think—"

He stopped at a sudden burst of laughter from Evanna. The witch was giggling wildly, as if he'd cracked a great joke.

"Did I say something funny?" Mr. Crepsley asked, bemused.

"Oh, Larten, if only you knew!" she squealed.

He raised an eyebrow at Vancha, Harkat and me. "What is she laughing at?"

None of us knew.

"Never mind why she's laughing," Vancha said, stepping forward to confront the witch. "I want to know what she was doing here in the first place, and why she was consorting with the enemy while pretending to be our ally."

Evanna stopped laughing and faced Vancha. She grew magically, until she was towering over him like a coiled cobra, but the Prince didn't flinch. Gradually the menace drained out of her and she resorted to her standard shape. "I never claimed to be your ally, Vancha," she said. "I travelled with you, and broke bread with you — but I never said I was on your side."

"Does that mean you're on theirs!" he snarled.

"I take nobody's side," she replied coolly. "The divide between vampires and vampaneze is of no interest to me. I look upon you as silly, warring boys, who will one night come to their senses and stop spitting angrily at one another."

"An interesting view," Mr. Crepsley remarked ironically.

"I don't understand," I said. "If you aren't on their side, what were you doing with them?"

"Conversing," she said. "Taking their measure, as I did with you. I've sat with the hunters and studied them. Now I've done likewise with the hunted. Whichever way the War of the Scars goes, I'll have to deal with the victors. It's good to know in advance the calibre of those to whom your future is tied."

"Can anyone make sense of this?" Vancha asked.

Evanna smirked, delighted by our confusion. "Do you fine, fighting gentlemen read mystery novels?" she asked. We stared at her blankly. "If you did, you'd have guessed by now what's going on."

"Have you ever hit a woman?" Vancha asked Mr. Crepsley.

"No," he said.

"I have," Vancha grunted.

"Temper," the witch giggled, then grew serious. "If you have something that is precious, and others are looking for it, where is the best place to hide it?"

"If this rubbish continues…"Vancha warned.

"It's not rubbish," Evanna said. "Even humans know the answer to this one."

We thought about it in silence. Then I raised a hand, as though in school, and said, "Out in the open, in front of everyone?"

"Exactly," Evanna applauded. "People searching — or hunting — rarely find what they seek if it's placed directly before them. It's common to overlook that which is most obvious."

"What does any of this have to do with—" Mr. Crepsley began.

"The man in the robes… was no servant," Harkat interrupted grimly. Our heads turned questioningly. "That's what we overlooked… wasn't it?"

"Precisely," the witch said, and now there was a touch of sympathy to her tone. "By dressing and treating him as a servant — as they have since they took to the road — the vampaneze knew he'd be the last target anyone would focus on in the event of an attack." Holding up four fingers, Evanna slowly bent the index one over, and said, "Your brother didn't run because he was afraid, Vancha. He fled to save the life of the man he was protecting — the fake servant — the Lord of the Vampaneze!"

CHAPTER TWENTY

UNDER ORDERS from Evanna — she threatened to blind and deafen us if we disobeyed — we buried the dead vampaneze and vampet in the copse, digging deep graves and placing them on their backs, facing towards the sky and Paradise, before covering them over.

Vancha was inconsolable. On our return to the Cirque Du Freak, he demanded a bottle of brandy, then locked himself away in a small trailer and refused to answer our calls. He blamed himself for the escape of the Vampaneze Lord. If he'd tackled his brother, the Vampaneze Lord would have been at our mercy. It was the first of our four promised chances to kill him, and it was hard to imagine a simpler opportunity falling into our laps.

Mr. Tall already knew what had happened. He'd been expecting the confrontation and told us that the vampaneze had been trailing the Cirque Du Freak for more than a month.

"They knew we were coming?" I asked.

"No," he said. "They were following us for other reasons."

"But you knew we were coming… didn't you?" Harkat challenged him.

Mr. Tall nodded sadly. "I'd have warned you, but the consequences would have been dire. Those with insight into the future are forbidden to influence it. Only Desmond Tiny, can meddle directly in the affairs of time."

"Do you know where they have gone," Mr. Crepsley asked, "or when we are due to clash with them again?"

"No," Mr. Tall said. "I could find out, but I read the future as little as possible. What I can tell you is that Gannen Harst is prime protector of the Lord of the Vampaneze. The six you killed were normal guards who can be replaced. Harst is the key guardian. Where the Lord goes, he goes too. Had he been killed, the odds of future success would have weighed heavily on your side."

"If only I had gone after Harst instead of Vancha," Mr. Crepsley sighed.

Evanna, who'd said nothing since we returned, shook her head. "Don't waste time regretting lost chances," she said. "You weren't destined to face Gannen Harst at this stage of the hunt. Vancha was. It was fate."

"Let's be positive," I said. "We now know who the Vampaneze Lord is travelling with. We can spread Gannen Harst's description and tell our people to look out for him. And they won't be able to pull that servant disguise again — next time we'll be ready and know who to look for."

"This is true," Mr. Crepsley agreed. "Plus we have suffered no losses. We are as strong as we were at the start of our quest, we are wiser, and we still have three chances to kill him."

"Then why do we feel… so terrible?" Harkat asked glumly.

"Failure is always a bitter pill to swallow," Mr. Crepsley said.

We saw to our wounds after that. Harkat's arm was badly cut but no bones were broken. We set it in a sling, and Mr. Crepsley said it would be fine in a couple of nights. My right thumb was turning an ugly colour, but Mr. Tall said it wasn't infected and would be OK if I rested it.

We were preparing for sleep when we heard angry bellows. Hurrying through the camp — Mr. Crepsley with a heavy cloak tossed over his head to protect him from the morning sun — we found Vancha on the outskirts, tearing off his clothes, an empty bottle of brandy on the ground beside him, screaming at the sun. "Roast me!" he challenged it. "I don't care! Do your worst! See if I give a—"

"Vancha!" Mr. Crepsley snapped. "What are you doing?"

Vancha whirled, snatched up the bottle and pointed it at Mr. Crepsley as though it was a knife. "Stay away!" he hissed. "I'll kill you if you try to stop me!"

Mr. Crepsley came to a halt. He knew better than to mess with a drunken vampire, especially one of Vancha's powers. "This is stupid, Sire," he said. "Come inside. We will find another bottle of brandy and help you drink—"

"— to the health of the Vampaneze Lord!" Vancha shrieked crazily.