100% Hero

by Jayne Lyons

  'He certainly is, Madam. One hundred per cent.' Chester laughed, but all trace of his normal friendliness seemed to be gone.

  Freddy couldn't speak foreign languages and so must have misheard, for he almost thought the adventure leader had called him an idiot. That couldn't be right.

  'If you vill pleaze bring your bags zis vay.' Madam Tarot turned away and hobbled into the hall.

  Freddy, frowning a little in confusion, shouldered his bag and entered the grim house. The door closed behind them with a thud. Freddy looked at the walls – they were covered in paintings and photographs of ballerinas and men in tights. He gave a snort of laughter.

  'So-ooo lame,' he whispered to Priscilla, who stared at him as coldly as she had on that very first meeting.

  Madam Tarot turned and glared at him.

  'You make ze fun of my limp, boy?' she hissed.

  'Oh, no, I didn't, that is . . .' Freddy's nose scrunched up in embarrassment. 'Hairy moles, I mean, stinky feet . . . I just meant ballet is for, you know . . . losers.'

  'Loozers?' The lady could hardly draw breath.

  'Well, yeah,' Freddy panicked. 'I mean, he's not a dude who goes canoeing, is he?' He pointed at a picture of a male ballet dancer. 'I'd never be seen dead in tights.'

  'You vill vear tights, boy, or never eat a zauzage again.' Madam Tarot gave a cold laugh.

  'Wart?' Freddy didn't understand. Who on earth went rock-surfing in tights?

  'There is no boys' camp, Freddo,' Chester said, barely able to contain his laughter.

  'Zere are no boys at all,' Madam Tarot said, with a shiver of disgust. ''Orrible, smelly, noizy creatures. You vill zleep here.' She flung open a door to a tiny room that had an old mattress on the floor, and mops and buckets against the wall.

  'What?' Freddy didn't understand anything. He looked at Priscilla for an explanation. 'Where are the tough, extreme-sports guys?'

  'There are none, idiot, just one wimp instead. You! Welcome to ballet school . . . loser.'

  Freddy's voice failed him. Now it all made sense.

  'I'm not staying,' he said, jumping to the door.

  'Oh, yes you are, Freddo,' Chester growled and pushed him back in the room. 'You will stay here and keep out of my way for as long as I say so.' He hissed so Freddy alone heard him: 'And don't even think about trying to contact the Fang Council, because I have a gun aimed at your father's heart, night and day. All I need to do is give the word. The Treasure of Bane will soon be mine, as it should have been Dravin's. No-one is at Farfang to stop me.'

  'But that's evil . . . I'll warn him! I'll save him!' Freddy cried.

  'How, idiot? You keep quiet or else,' Chester hissed.

  'Mrs Mutton will show you the wooden spoon,' was all Freddy could mumble.

  'Do you think I'll let an old woman stand in my way? I'll pull Farfang down if I have to.' Chester shook his head. 'And if I hear one complaint from Madam Tarot, then your stinking mongrel pet will be at the bottom of the moat, where all her kind belong.'

  Freddy was speechless as he took in the meaning of Chester's words. Priscilla gave a laugh at his stunned face.

  'Oh, Freddy! Did you really think you were my hero? You're so-ooo pathetic – you scummy little poodle.' Priscilla looked down her nose at him as if he were dirt.

  Freddy had really believed she liked him. He stepped back in shock and tripped, landing on the mattress, as Chester slammed and locked the door. It was a total disaster. His family was in the gravest danger again.

  'It's all my fault,' Freddy croaked, looking at the mop buckets. And then the real horror struck him. 'I'm at a ballet school!'

  That night, the wind howled across the hills and rattled the sign on the iron gates of Drumbogie House.

  'Madam Tarot's Ballet School for Elegant Young Ladies', it read. But some naughty boys had crossed it out and written 'Madam Tarot's Ballet School for Total Sissies'.

  Freddy did not have a good night. He was cold, miserable and worried for his father, Mrs Mutton and Batty. Added to his fear for his friend was the shame he felt when he saw how he had pushed her aside for Priscilla. The mongrel had been loyal and faithful, but Freddy had left her behind so that he could impress such a horrible girl.

  When he thought about Priscilla Puceley, Freddy went cold with the creeps. How could anyone seem to be so perfect, and yet be so vile? He had no idea what the Treasure of Bane was, but he felt sure that the Puceleys shouldn't have it – somehow he would have to stop them. He wasn't the Second Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever for nothing.

  He dropped into a fitful sleep, only to jerk awake in fright in the very coldest, darkest part of the night. There was something outside! Freddy climbed onto the mop bucket and managed to peep out over the high window ledge into the garden below. His scalp tightened with fright, and he only just managed to hold back his shriek.

  In the light of the moon he saw a beautiful pale woman with long red hair and a green dress, which was billowing behind her in the howling wind. She seemed almost to float, so elegantly did she move over the lawn. She drifted towards a stone archway in the wall. The dust on the window ledge started to irritate Freddy's nose. He gave an explosive sneeze.

  The lady stopped immediately. Her eyes flew to him, piercing fire through the dark. The whites turned a ghastly blood-red colour and then her black pupils grew to fill her sockets, the fire still burning bright behind them. She started to smile, and then sped towards him like an arrow, her arms reaching out. Freddy dropped to the floor, shaking with fright. He froze – he was sure he could hear a woman's laughter and fingernails scraping on the window pane.

  'No!' a deep, throaty voice growled. 'Leave this place!'

  And that was all Freddy heard, for he clamped his hands over his ears, and closed his eyes. This was far worse than Coldfax: at least then he had Batty to comfort him. How much braver he felt when she was with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ballet School for Total Sissies

  Chester arose early the next morning, for he had a journey to make and a man to visit. His goodbyes with his daughter were to the point.

  'He must not leave here, so watch him like a hawk. If he tries any funny business, call me. I'll know what to do.'

  'But, Papa, how long must I stay in this dump?' Priscilla sulked, looking around. It was the height of summer, and yet the house was freezing.

  'Until I have pulled that castle apart – at least a week, princess. Now, be Papa's brave girl.'

  Priscilla smiled. Of course she could be brave, if jewels were involved.

  Freddy stood up defiantly as his door was unlocked the next morning. He glared at Madam Tarot, his hair sticking up wildly and his collar half tucked into his jumper. He was wearing camouflage trousers and heavy black boots, ready for adventure.

  'You vill vear zis.' With a scowl, the little lady threw some clothes at him.

  'No way!' Freddy said.

  'Danze rehearzal in five minutes, in ze ztudio,' she snapped, banging her stick on the floor.

  'But what about breakfast? I'm starving. I never had any supper.'

  She shrugged. 'No danze, no food.'

  Freddy scowled at the tights and little jacket she had given him.

  'No way am I wearing these.' He threw them back outside. 'I'm not a girlie fluff bunny.'

  'No tights, no danze. No danze, no food.' Madam Tarot threw the tights back again. They landed on Freddy's head. She swung the door closed.

  'No, wait!' Freddy cried. His stomach was howling.

  'I'll return after lunch and zee if you have changed your mind,' Madam Tarot called as she limped toward the shadows.

  'Great bubbling farts!' Freddy groaned. What a nightmare. He hurled the tights to the floor in a fury. No way was he going to give in – a werewolf could not be broken that easily! He flung himself facedown onto the mattress. Wearing tights was as bad as being pink. No-one was ever going to make him look that ridiculous again.

  Breakfast-time passed. It began to rain, in grey, end
less sheets. Freddy stared forlornly from the window. He tried to open it, but it was nailed down. As the morning dragged on, and on, and on, Freddy's stomach bubbled for mercy. Lunchtime came and went, and still no-one rescued him.

  By three o'clock, he was a broken wolf. He had to eat.

  'Okay, I give in,' he wailed weakly at the door.

  He heard the shuffle and tap of the headmistress approaching, and waited for the door to swing open.

  He thrust out his chest as Madam Tarot looked him up and down. He was wearing the clothes she had given him: pink tights, ballet slippers and a purple silk Prince Charming jacket. He had been coiffured in a poodle parlour – he could get through this.

  'If you could now kindly show me to the sausages, Ma'am,' he said pompously and bowed. Then, with dignity that only a werewolf is capable of, he walked on his tiptoes from the room, his little bum wiggling.

  He followed Madam down the corridor into a dining room filled with two long tables and wooden benches.

  'First you eat, zen we danze,' the headmistress snapped.

  A plate of food lay waiting.

  'Ha-ha-hardy-ha!' Freddy laughed and sank onto the seat thankfully.

  Then he looked in shocked dismay at his plate. He prodded the food with his fork. He lifted it up, sniffed it, and then dropped it in disgust.

  'Green vegetables?'

  It was indeed vegetables, of the greenest, most putrid variety: peas, cabbage, broccoli and, horror of horrors, spinach!

  'Of course!' Madam shrugged.

  'But I only eat meat and sweets,' Freddy pushed the dish away in disgust.

  'A danzer does not eat meat,' she corrected him with a laugh. 'We are all vegetarians here, boy.'

  He looked at her skeleton face – no wonder she was so thin.

  'I'm not a vegetarian! I'm a wolf!' he cried. 'And I need proper food or I'll, or I'll . . .'

  'Or he'll cry-hie!' came a sly voice, followed by a familiar revolting squeal of laughter.

  Freddy turned around, his mouth falling open in surprise. There they stood, his cousins Hideous Harriet and Two-Chins Chariot, the Putrid Pair, the Pukesome Twosome, the Disgusting Duo, still as pink and plump as ever.

  'What, how, why, when?' Freddy demanded in confusion. They were supposed to be at a strict boarding school for horrible, spoilt brats while their father remained imprisoned at Dundaggard.

  'Ah, ze liddle cherubs!' Madam Tarot's expression softened at last. 'And so zis is your couzin? I hope he vill be as good as you.'

  'I'm afraid that he's a naughty boy, Madam,' said Harriet. 'And he steals, and cheats, and spits.'

  'Zen I was right to keep ze creature away from my girls.' The lady shuddered.

  'And he farts,' Chariot added, taking a bite from something hidden behind his back.

  'He's got a sausage!' Freddy pointed, unable to focus on anything but his hunger. 'He's not a vegetarian.'

  'But he is not a danzer, he iz a muzician.' Madam Tarot frowned.

  'Violin,' Chariot dribbled.

  'Well, I'm not a dancer either, and I'm starving.'

  Freddy made a lunge and Chariot jumped back in fear. Madam Tarot's stick whacked down onto Freddy's fingers. He gasped in pain.

  'And he's a boy. You said there were no boys,' he murmured stubbornly.

  'Oh, but I don't count him, he's zo zweet,' the lady said dismissively. 'Now, my cherubs, leave zis 'orrid boy alone. You –' she prodded Freddy – 'vill join us for claz in ten minutes, or you vill be zorry.'

  After poking out their tongues and goggling their eyes at Freddy, the twins gave a burble of laughter and left with the headmistress.

  'I won't eat it, it's not normal!' Freddy insisted as their footsteps faded. But in the end there was no-one left but him and a plate of cold vegetables. With a groan of defeat, he drew it towards him and, despite being concerned that he would throw up at any moment, he began to eat the healthy food.

  Unlike Freddy, Harriet and Chariot were rather enjoying their summer camp at Madam Tarot's Ballet School. It made a welcome break from the school they had been attending for the past four months, where there was a lot of emphasis on sport, good behaviour and teamwork. Thanks to Chester Puceley, Madam Tarot's name had been passed around the Moonlight Gathering. Lady McDaggard, whose husband was Sir Hotspur's jailer, had sent the twins to Drumbogie for the summer for a change of scenery and so they could be near their father, as Dundaggard Castle was only a few miles away.

  The chubby twins had become Madam Tarot's favourites. They knew how to make grown-ups like them, even though every girl in the school hated them for their sneaky, snidey ways. And although unpleasant and pink, the twins did have a remarkable talent – with Harriet on piano and Chariot on violin, they could play music so beautiful it made Madam Tarot weep. So they played, and ate sausages, while the poor girls in class picked at their spinach, danced, and dreamt of home.

  Freddy's cheeks were as purple as his silk jacket as he sidled into the studio. What an appalling fate for Sir Rathbone's heir – no way were his fans ever going to hear about this. He held his hands in front of his most private places, like a soccer player in a 'wall' waiting for a Beckham free-kick. The room was full of girls of all sizes in white tights and tutus, stretching on their tiptoes. One by one they saw him, and dropped onto their heels in surprise. The most beautiful girl of all – taller than the rest, her golden hair in a tight bun – performed a perfect pirouette and dropped into a graceful curtsy. As she did, her hand moved to her forehead in the shape of an L.

  Loser, Priscilla mouthed, and then smiled.

  A little girl close to Freddy sneezed.

  'Ginger, control yourself,' Madam said severely. 'Zcitter-zcatter!'

  'Sorry, Madam.' Ginger curtsied and sneezed again. 'I can't help it, I'm allergic to dogs.'

  'But zere are no dogs here, girl.'

  The twins and Priscilla looked at Freddy with a smirk.

  'I'm not a dog!' he roared, stamping his balletslippered feet. He wasn't sure who he disliked the most.

  Every girl in the room looked at him as if he were a nutcase, and giggled.

  'Zilence!' Madam Tarot slammed her stick on the floor. The hairs on her mole twitched. 'Zis boy is called Frederick Ponzenby Lupinz.'

  The girls giggled again. Freddy humphed.

  'I have it on good auzority zat zis boy is a cheat.' The girls gasped. 'A liar!' They blinked. 'And a zneak!' The girls groaned.

  'I am not. I'm a hero, just ask anyone who knows me!' Freddy roared in outrage.

  'Okay,' Madam agreed. 'Iz he a hero, or does he cheat?' she asked Chariot.

  'Cheats all the time,' the piggy boy cried. 'He once cut a corner off a jigsaw piece to make it fit.'

  'It wasn't me. It'd been made wrong!' Freddy's ears wiggled.

  'Does he lie?' Madam asked Priscilla.

  'Oh yes,' the lovely girl replied, smiling wickedly, 'and when he does, his ears wiggle.'

  'They do not,' Freddy roared, as his ears wiggled again.

  'And does he zneak?' she asked Harriet.

  'Like a total traitor.' She narrowed her eyes at him. 'And he'll pay for it.'

  'Never!' Freddy at least could deny this charge from his old enemy.

  'And he definitely farts,' Ginger piped up. 'He's let three off already.'

  The girls stepped back in disgust.

  'Who asked you, butt-brain?' Freddy turned to her.

  'So girls, ze boy is here to danze, but ozerwize, keep away from him. He iz not good. Now, practise . . .'

  The girls quickly shuffled into line and, with a last piggy pout at their cousin, the Putrid Pair walked to their instruments. Madam nodded at them, and the music began.

  'And von two zree, von two zree, von two . . . boy.' She turned to Freddy, who was standing with his hands still covering you-know-where. 'You must learn ze steps. Follow ze girls.'

  Freddy looked at the row of ballerinas, all with their dainty hands arched over their heads and their toes pointed.

 
; 'No way,' he snorted. He had put on the stupid outfit, and he had eaten the foul vegetables. Thus far, but no further.

  'If you are going to be ze Prince Charming on stage at ze Inverness Royal Theatre and win ze prize, you must learn ze dance,' Madam insisted.

  'Prince Charming?' Freddy gaped. 'On stage? Totally, double no chance, not ever, and never!'

  'You vill learn ze dance.' Madam slammed the stick. Her mole hairs grew a little longer.

  'No, I vill not!' Freddy cried. 'And you can't make me.'

  'Oh, yez I can.'

  No chance, Freddy laughed to himself. He was the wolf who had outwitted Hotspur, Cripp and Cerberus. No way was this tiny lady going to beat him. He had of course forgotten that he was already wearing tights.

  Madam Tarot turned from him with a cold smile.

  Ho-ho, thought Freddy, she's given up already.

  Some miles away, Chester Puceley was sitting down to lunch with Laird McDaggard at Dundaggard Castle. They had first met many years before.

  'Hotspur may be able to help with my research,' said Chester as he finished explaining his business.

  'I dinnae know, Hotspur is dangerous. He was always a sneak as a boy.' Laird McDaggard shook his head. 'I dinnae trust him.'

  'Of course, I understand, and bow to your Lairdship's wisdom, only . . . no-one else can give me what I need.' Chester's eyes were earnest and pleading.

  'And Flasheart agrees, you say?' The Scotsman raised an eyebrow. 'That is a wolf we do trust.'

  'One hundred per cent,' the other man confirmed.

  'All right then, but watch him, lad. He'd escape this castle in a second if he could.'

  'I'm sure he would, sir,' Chester beamed.

  After standing and stubbornly watching the dancing for an hour, Freddy was at last allowed to escape to his miserable room. His bag and all his clothes were missing. He froze with alarm, but then relaxed. Of course! He had been moved to a more suitable room, befitting his importance. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of some camouflage trousers flying through the air outside the window.

  'Stinky feet!'