100% Hero
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE Second Greatest Hero
CHAPTER TWO The Puceleys
CHAPTER THREE Green Vegetables
CHAPTER FOUR Slugs and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails
CHAPTER FIVE Blavendoch
CHAPTER SIX Disaster
CHAPTER SEVEN Enemies Old and New
CHAPTER EIGHT Coldfax Revisited
CHAPTER NINE Doggie
CHAPTER TEN Most Wanted Wolf-Boy
CHAPTER ELEVEN Travelling North
CHAPTER TWELVE Drumbogie
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Ballet School for Total Sissies
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Battle
CHAPTER FIFTEEN A Cold Shower
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Defeat
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Ballet Hero
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Home – Danger – Quick
CHAPTER NINETEEN Another Blavendoch
CHAPTER TWENTY Homeward Bound
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Return to Farfang
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Hidden Halls
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE The Treasure of Bane
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Betrayal
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE An Unpleasant Surprise
About the Author
JAYNE LYONS
100% HERO
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
100% Hero
ePub ISBN 9781864715491
Kindle ISBN 9781864716412
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published by Random House Australia in 2009
Copyright © Jayne Lyons 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Lyons, Jayne
Title: 100 Hero / Jayne Lyons
ISBN: 978 1 74166 396 9 (pbk.)
Target audience: For primary school age
Subjects: Werewolves – Juvenile fiction
Dewey number: A823.4
Cover design by Design Cherry
Cover and internal illustrations by Ari Geller, The People's Republic of Animation,
except 'Key' and 'Lock' illustrations ©iStockphoto.com/claudelle
Internal design by Midland Typesetters
Typeset in 13/17.5pt Berkeley Oldstyle Book by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia
Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
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CHAPTER ONE
Second Greatest Hero
Frederick Poncenby Lupin was the Second Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever! He had spent the whole morning thinking about this as he lay in the garden with his friend, Batty the dog. It was the first day of the summer holidays and Freddy planned to think about himself as often as possible. He thought it was very likely that in two hundred years werepups would gaze at pictures of him in admiration. They might sing songs about his bravery. They would dream that one day they might even be as great as him, however unlikely that was. In their games, they would argue over who got to play Freddy. He pitied the poor kid who would have to take the part of his defeated enemy, the evil wolf hunter Dr Foxwell Cripp.
'Because only the coolest kids will get to play me,' he told Batty modestly. She barked and licked his face. 'Lucky them,' Freddy agreed.
He laughed as he remembered his first meeting with Batty, when the dog had sniffed his backside. He knew now that, for a dog, this was the very best of good manners. His smile faded when he remembered that he had been a dyed-pink poodle at the time, thanks to a hateful trick. Even Freddy's fantastic opinion of himself wobbled slightly at that memory. He wasn't totally sure that any boy would want to play the part of a pink hero in their games.
As he walked into the Great Hall of Farfang Castle, he looked up at the tapestry of Sir Rathbone De Lupinne, his ancestor, hanging on the wall. Sir Rathbone, the number one Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever, sat astride his great black horse, holding his sword high. Freddy imagined a similar picture of himself, as a poodle, hanging next to this one. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all! He decided that this part of his story did not need to be mentioned. He was 100 per cent wolf and that was all his worshippers needed to be told. The fact that at some full moons he transformed into a black poodle, and not a wolf, would have to be a secret. From now on, he was going to be the proudest, most perfectest wolf that ever lived. And to make sure everybody else thought as well of him as he did of himself, he devised a cunning plan. He was, after all, the Plan Master.
He would need his family's help. They must begin by writing down examples of how intelligent, brave, or just generally brilliant he was. Those would be the stories that were to be told. He would have photographs taken of himself on the nights when he transformed into a noble black wolf. He would stand on the lawn and howl at the moon heroically. That would be the picture of him that would hang on the castle wall, next to Sir Rathbone's. Freddy was extremely pleased with his plan. Never again would he be seen as silly, or pink, or ridiculous in any way. He ran into the kitchen to tell his father and Mrs Mutton, the housekeeper, the great news. How proud of him they were going to be. He found them sitting at the table.
For years, Freddy had believed that his father, Flasheart, was dead, until he had discovered him imprisoned in the dungeons of Coldfax Fort. Sir Hotspur, Freddy's wicked uncle, had locked Flasheart there so that he could take his place as Grand Growler, the most powerful werewolf in Britain. Sir Hotspur was now in exile in Dundaggard Castle in Scotland. Flasheart, restored to his rightful place, wanted to catch up with all that he had missed of his son growing up. To help, Mrs Mutton was showing him the photographs, drawings, and other papers that she had saved in a large box.
'And here's one of Freddy, stark naked, peeing on Hotspur's roses,' she cackled.
'Good way to water the flowers, Pinky!' Flasheart roared with laughter.
Freddy was aghast! Had he heard correctly? He tore the picture from the old lady's hand. It showed him from behind, aged about four, and wearing nothing except his wellington boots. There was a birthmark shaped like a five-petalled flower on his left buttock. An arc of pee could be seen landing on the flowers. Freddy had had no idea that these photographs existed.
'
Where did this come from?' he bellowed in outrage.
'Oh, I took it when you weren't looking,' Mrs Mutton said, smiling.
'You shouldn't be spying on people's . . . private business!'
'You were in the middle of the garden, it was hardly private.'
'Still, it's not . . . dignified, is it?' Freddy could just imagine what impression this would make when discovered by his fans.
'You never kept your clothes on at that age,' she added.
Freddy was appalled at the news.
'Don't worry about that, Pinky, this one's much worse,' Flasheart said, picking up another photo. It showed Freddy in one of Mrs Mutton's old dresses. He also wore her high-heeled shoes and lipstick, and was picking his nose.
'It wasn't me!' Freddy roared, not seeing the funny side at all. 'Harriet tricked me.'
Harriet was his hateful cousin, now sent to a hateful school.
'Look at this one.' The old lady held up another photo.
It was of Freddy in a school play. He was dressed as a carrot, and the photo had been taken just at the moment he'd fallen off the stage and into the headmistress's lap, a look of amazement on his orange face.
'Ouch.' Flasheart laughed and ruffled his son's sticky-up black hair. 'Sorry I missed that play, it looks like a hoot.'
'Oh yeah, how funny – not! I've got a scar from that, in case anyone cares.' Freddy held out his elbow to show the invisible scar.
'And here's his first love letter,' Mrs Mutton said evilly, holding up a piece of paper covered in crayon.
'No! What? No way!' Freddy yelled.
' "Dere Daisee . . ." ' She began to read Freddy's early attempts at writing.
He tried to grab the paper from her, but she jumped out of his way. The only Daisy he knew was a girl in his class. She thought he was stupid and so he couldn't stand her. It appeared, however, that this had not always been the case.
' "Dere Daisee," ' Mrs Mutton continued mercilessly. ' "I luv yu and fink yur dress is nise. It is eggsacerly the same colur as snot. I like yur gums two. Will you marrie me? Luv Freddy." '
'Excellent! I see you have your father's smooth tongue. So why didn't you send it, Pinky?' Flasheart asked with a wink.
'Because I hate girls!' the poor boy protested. His face went bright red with fury and shame as the grown-ups laughed once more. This was no way for the Second Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever to be treated. Batty barked in agreement.
'Oh, that one should be framed!' Flasheart said. He was very pleased to have all these memories of his son.
'You're not keeping it all?' Freddy was horrified.
'Of course, what else shall we do?' Mrs Mutton asked, putting the precious items back into the box.
'Chuck them away, burn them, bury them, before anyone else sees.' He tried to grab the box, but the housekeeper whipped it away. 'Only stories of my being . . . fantabulous are allowed now!'
'But don't you want your fans to see the real you?'
Flasheart smiled mischievously.
'Of course not! I mean, der! Do I want the whole world to see my . . . my Blavendoch?' This was the name of a flower that looked exactly like the birthmark on his bum. Freddy scowled, waving the photo in his hand. This only made them laugh more. He sighed in frustration.
How was he ever to appear dignified and noble with such an embarrassing family? Songs had to be written about him, and he didn't want them to be about him peeing on the roses.
Before he could complain any more, the front doorbell rang. Flasheart looked at his watch in surprise. 'It must be Puceley. He's early.'
'Who?' Freddy asked, his grumpiness forgotten at the sudden news of visitors.
'Chester Puceley, my distant cousin. He went to school with Hotbot and I, but then he married the Archduchess of Boldovia . . . rather him than me. They've been living in Europe for years. Chester rang last night to say they would be passing through.'
'Ah, Mr Puceley!' Mrs Mutton cried. 'Such a wellmannered, charming man. You pups had better watch your manners,' she warned. Freddy didn't like the sound of this.
'Well, he's a bit too . . . neat for my liking.' Flasheart shrugged. 'But you know the Pact of the Fangen: our house is always open to werefolk. He's brought his daughter Priscilla – I hear she has very nice gums.'
Flasheart laughed as he went to answer the door.
Freddy snorted, and turned in time to see Mrs Mutton locking the box into a cupboard.
His eyes narrowed. He would outwit her yet. He was determined to destroy all the evidence in that box before anybody else ever saw it. He was going to be known as a brave and fearsome wolf – and not a carrot!
CHAPTER TWO
The Puceleys
Chester and his daughter Priscilla were Werens – that is, they were werefolk, but they did not transform into wolves. Chester was a famous scholar on the history of werefolk, and claimed to be descended from Dravin, Sir Rathbone's brother. While the Archduchess was alive, the family had lived in the elegance and luxury of the Court of Boldovia, a small principality on the edge of Transylvania. There Priscilla had been raised as a lady, and had split her time between the court and her private school in America. For the past two years, however, since the death of the Archduchess, times had been a little harder for the Puceleys. Chester had no money of his own, and he and Priscilla had spent all that had belonged to his wife. He was hoping to make his fortune by writing a bestseller on the history of Boldovia (with no mention of werefolk, of course). It took a lot of money to keep his daughter in the luxury she was accustomed to.
Freddy charged after his father into the Great Hall to greet the guests. Batty assumed his sudden dash was a game and chased after him. Just as they arrived in the hall, she tackled him from behind and Freddy fell on his stomach. He skidded over the smooth wooden floor like a torpedo.
'And here's my son.' Flasheart laughed as Freddy came to a rather undignified halt at the perfect feet of Priscilla Puceley. In fact, twelve-year-old Priscilla looked perfect in every possible way – something she was well aware of. She was tall, pretty, blonde, popular with all the cool kids, a dancer, and a gymnast.
'Farts, that hurt,' Freddy groaned. Then the boy who hated girls looked up at Priscilla and promptly fell in love. He would never have admitted this, of course – not in a million years. In fact, he would have denied it in a fury, but it was true. Unfortunately for him, however, Freddy was far from perfect in Priscilla's eyes. He was two years younger than her, way shorter, had sticky-out ears and his black hair was standing in spikes. No amount of victory over wolf hunters was going to help him here. He couldn't have looked less cool or heroic than he did then, lying on the floor and grinning at her cheesily. She wrinkled her perfect nose with disapproval.
'So this is your Master Frederick! Or may I call you Freddo? What a great honour to meet you at last. I'd like to shake the paw of the wolf who defeated a hunter.' Chester beamed down at him, his voice sounding like a song.
What sensible words! Freddy liked him already. He was a small, dainty man, with dark brown hair and a long thin moustache, which he twisted as he spoke. He was dressed in a close-fitting, black-and-white striped, long-tailed suit. He looked nothing like any werewolf you ever saw. He stepped forward, thrust his soft white hand down at the boy, and helped him to his feet. 'An honour to meet a hero,'
he repeated.
Freddy's chest swelled with pride.
'Well, it's not so hard to be a hero,' he said, trying to look tough for Priscilla. 'Not when your werepack is in danger and you're the only one who can save them.'
'And may I say, Mrs Mutton, that you are looking more beautiful than ever.' Chester bowed low to the housekeeper.
'Ooohh!' The old lady shrieked like a schoolgirl and blushed madly. 'Well I never . . .' She fanned herself with her apron.
'Who's this?' Priscilla said, as she picked something up. It was the photograph Freddy had taken from Mrs Mutton – it had fallen out of his trouser pocket. He went purple with shame as she held up the pic
ture of his . . . Blavendoch for all to see. He glared at his father, willing him not to tell.
'That's our Freddy, of course,' Mrs Mutton announced, to the boy's horror.
'Gruesome,' said Priscilla, dropping the photograph.
As Freddy grabbed the picture in shame, the girl turned and saw Batty. As a usually fierce rule, werefolk despise dogs and cannot bear to be associated with them. That had all changed in the Werepack of Lupin after Batty had helped to save Freddy from danger. Priscilla, however, like most Werens, still believed dogs were the lowest, most impure animals on earth. She gave a gasp when she saw the mongrel.
'Daddy, a dog!' She pointed, a disgusted look on her face.
Chester turned and saw the sweet black-and-white hound.
'Great horned toads! Lupin, how did that beast get in here?' He forgot for a moment to smile.
'Well, she lives here.' Flasheart smiled, but his eyes were suddenly hard.
'A dog? As a pet?' Chester frowned.
'No, she is one of our pack,' Flasheart replied. Freddy heard the iron in his father's voice. He sounded much more like the Grand Growler than just Puceley's cousin.
Priscilla's nose wrinkled once again in disgust. She drew back as Batty trotted forward to shake paws, which the dog knew was polite among humans and werefolk.
'Urgh! Keep it away. It's so filthy and disgusting,'
Priscilla squealed.
'It's okay, she won't hurt you. See? She's my best friend.' Freddy put his arm around Batty's neck and she licked his face.
'Grue . . . some!' Priscilla felt ill at the idea of touching something so beneath her.
'She's an honorary wolf,' Freddy added eagerly.
'No dog could ever be a wolf,' Priscilla snorted. 'Our blood is pure.'
'I know this much, Freddo . . .' Chester smiled charmingly. 'A dog's a dog, and a wolf's a wolf. And the two don't mix.'
'No way,' his daughter agreed with a shudder.
Freddy removed his arm from Batty's neck and looked down at his feet in shame. He waited in misery for Mrs Mutton, or his father, to blurt out the truth about him. What would the perfect Priscilla think of him then? But Flasheart changed the subject, and took the guests off to their rooms.