by Jayne Lyons
Freddy stayed below with Batty, feeling very gloomy. He was sure he'd been quite right to want to hide the truth – that his wolfen blood was mixed with poodle blood. Somehow, some way, he was going to make sure that Priscilla did not find out the truth. She was perfect and Freddy wanted to be perfect too.
CHAPTER THREE
Green Vegetables
Freddy tore up the terrible photograph and flushed it down the lavatory. He must do something to prove to Priscilla that he was a hero and not a wallington. In his bedroom at the top of the tower, Freddy looked at himself in the mirror. He tried to force his ridiculous, sticky-up hair flat, but it wouldn't stay down. Even with gel on, it kept springing up again. Batty smiled as she watched him. He tried sticking it down with sticky tape, but that didn't work. In the end he wet it and then sat on his bed with some underpants on his head.
'I'll take them off before I go downstairs,' he cried, as Batty laughed. 'Just until it's flat.'
In the end it was a useless plan. As soon as the pants came off, up flew his hair again.
'Oh, she'll think I'm a wally!' he said to Batty, who raised one hairy eyebrow in reply and wagged her tail significantly.
Somehow she understood much of what Freddy said, and certainly always knew how he was feeling. Much of dog language was expressed through signals, and Freddy had been a poodle long enough to understand most things that Batty meant, too.
And aren't you a wally? was what she meant this time.
'No, I'm not! I'm a hero . . . it's not my fault everything goes wrong.'
Batty barked. Yes, he was a wally, but she did love him. They lay on the bed together watching TV. Batty was so thankful that she had her own pack now, even if they were wolves. Although she had always enjoyed living on the Wildside, she had never realised the happiness and companionship that living in a pack could bring. She hoped to stay with the Lupins forever. Freddy could be spoilt, selfish and silly, but he was also very loyal and lots of fun too. He could always make her laugh. They were best friends and no one was ever going to come between them.
Mrs Mutton called upstairs for them to come down to dinner.
They raced down the spiral staircase and along the corridor into the kitchen. Batty's bowl was laid out, as usual, on the stone flags next to the fireplace. The table, however, was bare.
'We're eating in the Great Hall tonight, Freddy, in honour of our guests. Batty will be fine here,' Mrs Mutton announced, as she carried a huge platter of meat from the room.
Freddy felt a slight twinge as he saw Batty's ears droop a little. They had taken almost every meal together since she came to Farfang. Even if Flasheart had had important guests, Freddy had always begged permission to sit with Batty in the kitchen instead. He looked at his friend and then thought of Priscilla waiting next door. What would she think if Freddy ignored her, so that he could eat with a dog? His struggle didn't last long.
'It's just for tonight,' he said, stroking Batty's pretty head. 'Just to be polite. I'll eat with you tomorrow, I promise. I'll ask Mrs Mutton for sausages.'
Batty wagged her tail. Okay.
'I'll come and see you later, promise. Don't be sad, will you?' He smiled.
Not sad, she barked.
'Good,' Freddy cried and then, without another word or look, he raced off to see Priscilla.
Batty turned to her bowl. She knew she would see him soon.
Freddy ran to the Great Hall. His father was seated next to Chester Puceley at the long dining room table. They were discussing the various objects hanging on the stone walls around them: the tapestries, the swords, shields, and stag's heads. Freddy sat down and, without waiting for anyone else, stabbed a sausage with his fork and began to eat.
'And which is Sir Rathbone's sword?' Chester asked. 'The one the prophecy describes?'
The prophecy foretold that one day, when held in the hand of a true hero, that sword would save Wolfenkind from destruction.
'Well.' Flasheart winked at his son. 'I think Freddy may have fulfilled the prophecy already, but there it is, still in Sir Rathbone's gauntlet.'
Flasheart pointed to the top of the stairs, where his ancestor's shining silver armour held the huge sword – the sword that Freddy had used to stop his Uncle Hotspur from betraying their family.
'Great horned toads, what a magnificent sight!'
Chester looked up the sweeping Red Stairs at the ancient heirlooms.
Freddy looked up too, and his mouth fell open. His sausage fell off his fork and into his glass of water with a splash. The boy who hated girls looked at Priscilla, who stood on the stairs like a princess from a fairytale. She wore a beautiful white dress and her blonde hair shone like gold. She smiled and her white teeth glittered. Freddy remained with his empty fork paused outside his open mouth as she skipped daintily down the stairs towards them.
'Ah, and here is my beautiful jewel,' said Chester, beaming as she sat down opposite Freddy.
'Good evening, Papa, Mr Lupin, Mrs Mutton.' She smiled sweetly and then looked with some disdain at the spiky-haired boy.
Freddy noticed that she spoke with an American accent – how cool was that? The men continued their discussion.
'Freddy, close your mouth when you're eating,'
Mrs Mutton ordered, 'and get your sausage out of your glass.'
'It wasn't me.' He blushed, looking with some confusion at his drink. He fished out his sausage, shook the water off, and shoved it in his mouth.
'Oh, gross!' Priscilla curled up her perfect nose. Freddy stabbed at another sausage.
'I can eat twelve bangers in one go,' he announced. This was sure to impress her.
'Oh, grosser!' Priscilla turned away in disgust.
'With ketchup on!' he added.
She simply snorted and looked at the food on the table. There were sausages, lamb chops, potatoes and bread.
'Don't you have any green vegetables?' she asked Mrs Mutton.
'Vegetables?' the old lady said in surprise.
'Green ones?' Freddy gasped – surely he had misheard.
'Yes, like peas?' Priscilla nodded.
'Peas?' he repeated, as if she were suggesting he eat poo.
'Or spinach?'
'Spinach?'
'Or salad?'
'Salad?!'
He couldn't know it, but Freddy's expression was now exactly the same as in the photo of him falling offstage while dressed as a carrot. Total surprise and amazement – but in a bad way.
Mrs Mutton was also struggling to understand. In her whole long life of looking after the Lupin Pack she had never heard any werefolk ask for a vegetable.
'Since when did a Weren eat greens?' she complained. 'There's enough meat here for a pack of wolves.'
Freddy nodded, terrified that he too might be forced to eat something healthy.
He demonstrated to the girl exactly how to eat a sausage like a wolf. He stuffed it into his mouth sideways so that it bulged out both of his cheeks, and then he gave her a smile.
'Oh . . . grossest!' Priscilla shuddered. 'I'm a vegetarian.'
Freddy's face fell.
'A what?' the housekeeper cried. Even Flasheart looked over in surprise. 'How can you be a Weren and a . . . vegi-whatever?'
'Well, I am, and I'm not going to eat this. I want vegetables, Papa!' Priscilla flounced back into her chair in a sulk. 'And salad.'
'Of course you do, my jewel,' her father cried, twisting his moustache. 'Priscilla is a very special girl, Lupin. And times change, even for werefolk. I think, now it's the twenty-first century, that a pup can have some vegetables if she wants them.'
'Of course she must. Mrs Mutton, if you would be so kind?' Flasheart's green eyes twinkled at the old lady.
'Where am I going to find salad? I've never heard the like of it,' she muttered as she walked to the kitchen. 'In my day, a puppy never got greens just because they asked for it, not even Flasheart!'
Freddy spent the next few minutes looking at Priscilla. She got her own way brilliantly, but
he was a little concerned that he might be forced to eat spinach and was already developing a plan for smuggling it out in his underpants.
There was a lucky escape, however, because the only green thing Mrs Mutton could find was a jar of mint jelly, for putting on lamb chops. Priscilla reluctantly made a mint jelly sandwich, and pointedly ignored Freddy as she ate it.
Over dinner, Chester explained the reason for his visit to England. Many hundreds of years earlier, Dravin de Lupinne had travelled from Farfang to the Court of Boldovia, where he had deposited some ancient parchments. Chester wished to research the history of the documents, and thought there may be some information in the library and attics of the castle. Flasheart was more than happy for Chester to explore the vaults.
'You must treat Farfang Castle as your own,'
Flasheart told his guests.
'Oh, I will, Lupin.' Chester smiled. 'Thank you so much.'
That night, Freddy lay in his tower room and stared at the ceiling, while Batty snored at the end of his bed. He was feeling a little nervous, for it was to be a full moon the following night. In the four months since his first Transwolfation, he had been a wolf three times and a poodle only once. Freddy didn't quite understand how his mixed blood behaved the way it did, and he certainly had no control over it. He was roller-coastering between dread and excitement. He hoped he could parade in front of Priscilla as a sleek black wolf, for no Weren could help but be impressed by that. But what if he turned into Dripsy-Wimpsy the poodle again? His scalp went tight with worry. Priscilla would never want to associate with a dog. He looked down at Batty and bit his lip. They were supposed to be going to play in the woods the next morning, but Freddy couldn't now. He was sure Batty would understand that while Priscilla was here, things had to be a little different. It wasn't his fault.
Many miles away, Freddy's enemy of old was likewise anticipating the new moon.
'They will be hunting for red blood soon!' Dr Cripp pointed up at the night sky with his crayon – he wasn't allowed anything sharp. 'Just as I hunted them.'
He was sitting in his comfy padded cell in the Dreamy Daze Maximum Security Hospital for the Completely Confused. He was talking to a nurse and his eyes shone eagerly behind his thick round spectacles. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His greasy hair was brushed to one side.
'See?' He held up his drawing of a wolf howling under the moon. A stick man was aiming a gun at the wolf. 'Only I, the valiant Foxwell Cripp, can save mankind from their evil. So, do you agree to release me and let me carry on my quest?' he cried.
The nurse merely raised her eyebrow slightly. Dr Cripp would not be leaving his hospital in the near future – not until he gave up his bizarre stories about werewolves, at least.
CHAPTER FOUR
Slugs and Snails and Puppy
Dogs' Tails
Early that morning, Chester asked his daughter to try to be nicer to Freddy.
'But he's friends with a dog! It's so disgusting,' she complained.
'I know, my jewel, but remember why we're here.'
Priscilla pointed her perfect nose in the air in a little sulk. 'I want to go back to America. I miss my friends.'
'Well, Papa has to earn the money for his little lady's very smart school, my sweet. Just get the boy to show you round the castle and . . . explore. We don't have much time, and I must complete my research.'
Priscilla was not pleased, but eventually she agreed.
'Are you American?' Freddy asked as soon as Priscilla walked into the kitchen.
'No! Boldovian.'
'Never heard of it.' He shrugged. 'Do you want to see my slug collection?'
'Ooh, no,' she shuddered.
'I can burp "Happy Birthday", listen . . .' He burped the tune.
'Weird,' was all the perfect girl said, with a look of pity. 'This place is, like, sooo lame.'
'I can fart it too if you want . . .' Freddy offered.
'Go away!'
Poor old Freddy had run out of things to suggest. They couldn't play chase with Batty, couldn't splash in the moat with Batty, couldn't throw a Frisbee with Batty . . . couldn't do any of the things he usually did.
Batty came in just at that moment. Priscilla gave a shriek and jumped on the table.
'Oooh! Get it out. It's a filthy mongrel,' she screeched.
Batty flicked the strands of black-and-white hair out of her eyes and gave a small growl. She didn't like Priscilla either.
'Don't be scared. She won't bite you,' Freddy reassured Priscilla, although Batty's teeth were showing a little, and she looked as though she might quite like to bite the screeching girl.
'I'm not scared. I just don't want it to touch me. I am a Weren.'
Freddy blushed.
'Perhaps you'd better go out on your own,' he whispered to his friend, and led her to the back door. 'Just for today.'
Batty stood outside and watched him return to the girl, then she padded off sadly into the woods.
Freddy was confused. He felt sad about Batty but also excited about Priscilla. He wanted her to like him. He didn't want to be lame.
'We could go on the Slide of Doom,' he said.
'What's that?'
Freddy's eyes twinkled with mischief. 'I'll show you.'
'Woo-hoo!' he yelled, as the large metal tray shot down the spiral stone staircase.
'Coo-ool,' Priscilla screamed behind him.
The pair were travelling at breakneck speed, Freddy's black, spiky hair flying up. They reached the foot of the stairs and then sped along the corridor, out the open door and into the courtyard at the centre of the castle. Just before they could splash into the ornamental pond, Freddy expertly steered left into a rosemary bush. He rolled off the tray, laughing.
'Again?' he said.
Priscilla was upside down in the shrub. Freddy hauled her up. She brushed the leaves off her jumper, straightened her hair, and looked down her perfect nose. Then, for the first time, she smiled at him.
'Again!' she agreed.
Freddy looked for her, but Batty had not returned for lunch. Instead, he joined the grown-ups and Priscilla in the Great Hall. Mrs Mutton had made the girl a salad, but Freddy had sausages again. After his glorious morning of triumph with the Slide of Doom, he thought he was on a roll. Not at all deterred by his failures of the previous evening, he again scoffed his sausage sideways.
This time, Priscilla laughed so much that she had to fan her face with her hands.
'Oh, like, you are so-ooo cool,' she said when she could catch her breath.
'Yes, I am, aren't I?' Freddy agreed, pleased that Priscilla had at last seen the light.
'Well, I am very happy to see you two young people getting on so well.' Chester winked at his daughter.
'Of course, we are, Papa,' she replied, wafting her eyelids. 'Freddy is the Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever, remember.'
'Well, Second Greatest Hero,' Freddy corrected. He didn't want to sound like a show-off. 'Sir Rathbone is the best wolf really, well . . . anyway, that's what some wolves think . . .'
Flasheart grinned. Freddy always made his father laugh, only sometimes he wasn't sure why.
'What are you going to do this afternoon, Pinky?'
'Dad!' Freddy hissed at his father's use of the nickname. The last thing he wanted was for Priscilla to know about his pink phase.
'Sorry,' Flasheart grimaced.
Freddy stuffed in another sausage.
'I'd really like to explore the castle.' The pretty girl smiled at them. Freddy found himself smiling back like a charlie. 'Like, do you have . . . any . . . secret passages? We have them in Boldovia.'
'Flah-blah-splutter-flig,' Freddy said, forgetting in his eagerness to reply that he had a mouthful of sausage.
Some flew across the table and landed on Priscilla's nose. She flinched, shuddered, wiped it off with her napkin, and just about managed to return the smile to her face.
Flasheart frowned at Freddy significantly, and Mrs Mutton threw a bread roll at his head, w
hich bounced off and rolled over the table.
'Don't talk about . . . anything with your mouth full,' she hissed.
Freddy blushed and nodded. He had almost blurted out one of the Lupin Pack's greatest secrets. It was not to be shared with anyone, not even distant relatives with perfect noses.
'Well, I'm not sure about secret passages, but explore as much as you like. Just don't tire yourself out, Freddy. It's a big night tonight.' Flasheart smiled, his teeth already looking sharper.
'It will certainly be an honour to attend a Transwolfation here in Sir Rathbone's own hall,' said Chester, looking about in awe.
'And will you go on a Blood-Red Hunt?' Priscilla looked a little excited, despite being a vegetarian.
'No, we will stay in the grounds of Farfang tonight,' Flas heart replied before Freddy could. 'It's not always safe.'
'Oh, Dad,' Freddy whined. He didn't want to look a sissy in front of the guests.
'Maybe next month.' Flasheart looked grave. He didn't want to upset his son, but he had seen reports in the local paper that a documentary crew had arrived in Milford to film 'wildlife'. The last thing the werefolk wanted was publicity.
'Oh well . . . if it's too dangerous for you . . .' Priscilla shrugged and looked at Freddy exactly as if he were a coward.
The poor boy blushed red. The hairs on his palms were itchy as anything. He would prove to Priscilla that he was a brave wolf.
Batty came looking for Freddy that afternoon, but he was with Priscilla again. They were sitting under the drawbridge, where he was showing her his collection of slugs – Priscilla had changed her mind about them. The dog flicked her hair and went to lie under a rosebush. She lay her muzzle on her paws and sighed. She didn't like that human girl.
Freddy was telling Priscilla about his heroics, without any mention of poodles.
'And so, that night I led the whole Werepack in the Blood-Red Hunt. It was like the coolest ever – so radical.' He flexed the thin muscles on his arms.