100% Hero

by Jayne Lyons

  He ran out and arrived in the garden to see the gardener hurl the last of his belongings onto the bonfire. With his hands on his tight-ed hips, he glared at the wizened old man.

  'What are you doing, you . . . you . . . silly old duffer?' he yelled.

  'Burning the rubbish,' the old man said softly, staring into the flames.

  'That's not rubbish, that's my stuff! You . . . you . . . wallington!'

  The old man just shrugged. He had wild bushy brown eyebrows and sideburns that nearly covered his face. 'Madam's orders.' He poked the fire.

  Madam Tarot!

  Freddy watched in despair as his Bart Simpson t-shirt ignited and disintegrated.

  'What am I going to wear now?' He could hardly escape dressed as Prince Charming.

  'Looks like tights and a wee girly jacket.' The old man looked at him and gave a growly wheeze of amusement.

  'It's only funny if two people are laughing,' Freddy said furiously.

  'Aye, well, two people are.' The old man winked towards a tree. Freddy turned and saw a girl hiding behind it. Ginger.

  'What do you want?' Freddy glared at her.

  'Nothing.' She sat next to him, and sneezed. He ignored her and watched the evil old man rake the ashes. So much for adventure camp.

  'You look funny,' the girl told him. He looked at her with annoyance. She was about his age, had red hair, and was even skinnier than him.

  'Look who's talking,' he snapped.

  'Oh, I know.' She grinned anyway. 'Are you hungry?'

  'Starving, like totally marvined. I had to eat spinach,' he said in outrage, as if it were all her fault.

  'I put it in my pockets.' Ginger said with a laugh. 'See?' She drew a handful of soggy spinach out of the pocket of her cardigan, and threw it onto the fire. It sizzled.

  Freddy looked in alarm at the gardener, Madam's evil henchman.

  'Oh, don't fret, Dougal winnae snitch. Do you want some chocolate?' She held out the heavenly brown stuff.

  Freddy grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth before she could change her mind.

  'Eeds . . . reallah . . . gad,' he garbled as he ate.

  'I know. Here you go, Dougal.' She stepped over to the gardener and gave him some too. For the first time, Freddy noticed her limp.

  'Thanks, lass,' said the old man. 'You're a good wee girl.'

  'I know,' she said.

  Freddy was staring at her, trying to work out what was wrong.

  'I've got a curved spine,' she told him.

  'Oh, right! I wasn't really looking, well, I mean, I wondered why, that is . . . farts.' He came to a halt. 'I didn't know.'

  'Didn't you see that I can't dance?' She put her hands on her hips. 'I'm the worst.'

  'No,' Freddy growled, 'I don't look at girls . . . I'm tough and mean.'

  'You're funny,' she said, and sneezed again.

  Freddy tutted. 'So how come your family sent you here if you're a . . .' He stopped.

  'I wanted to come. I love ballet.'

  'But you can't dance.' Freddy couldn't understand.

  'But I still like trying.' She gave a twirl.

  'I zee zat you have found your level, viv ze zervants and ze clump-cloppers.'

  They all turned to see Madam. Ginger's happy smile faded at the cruel words.

  'Better here than with the pink piggies,' Freddy said. 'Just wait till my dad hears about my stuff, he'll . . .'

  'Vhat vill he do, boy?' Madam leaned towards him, her eyes narrow behind her glasses. Her mole hairs twitched, as if they would jump out at him.

  Freddy stepped back out of hair's length. 'He'll show you!' he declared.

  'I doubt it.' She gave a cold laugh and then gestured to the ashes. 'Now you have zeen vhat I can do. Zo, vill you learn ze danze?'

  'I'd sooner eat poo!' Freddy declared. Ginger looked at him in admiration.

  'Zo be it.' Madam smiled and hobbled back into the house.

  'Ha-ha-hardy-ha!' Freddy jumped up and slapped his thigh. 'She's given up!'

  'I don't think so.' Ginger was smiling again. 'She doesn't like to lose.'

  'Well, neither do I.' Freddy paraded a little. 'And I am a champion.'

  Dougal shook his head at the boy's stupidity.

  'Anyway, I'm escaping from this dump, even if I am dressed like a great cream cake. Coldfax couldn't hold me – Snotbogie isn't going to either.'

  'What, escape across the moors?' Ginger gasped.

  'Yes, of course. Why not? I'm used to running free.' He held his noble head high.

  'Oh, I wouldn't do that.' Ginger shook her head, her eyes big.

  'I understand your fear, child,' Freddy said gently, 'but I am no ordinary boy. I do not frighten so easily.'

  'But the ghost will get you. The Baa-Van Shee.'

  'The what?' Freddy laughed. 'I don't believe in ghosts.' The last time he had believed such a tale, it had all been nonsense.

  'She's called the Baobhan Sith in the old language.' Dougal came up to them, his blue eyes bright under his brows. 'And she is no ghost.' His expression made Freddy nervous.

  'What is it then?' the boy asked.

  'Like I said, a Shee, a fairy.'

  'Oh der, I'm not afraid of fairies,' Freddy guffawed. 'With little pink wings and shiny shoes?'

  'She is a fairy witch,' the old man corrected. 'No pink wings. Her skin is pure white and her hair is long and red, like a beautiful princess. Her eyes can burn through to your heart, and her teeth are sharper than fangs.'

  Freddy sank back on his stone seat, his stomach hurting as he remembered the lady he had seen the night before.

  'And does she wear a green dress?' he asked, not sounding at all like the brave and fearless boy he had boasted of being.

  'Aye, and if you meet her, never let her look into your eyes. If she does, you are hers, and she will not rest until . . .' The gardener looked around a little.

  'Until?' Freddy tried to act as if he didn't care.

  'Until she has drained every last drop of blood from your limp and lifeless body,' Ginger finished with an eager grin.

  Every last drop of blood drained from Freddy's limp and lifeless face.

  'Oh, farts.' Freddy thought of his nightmare. 'I don't believe in fairies,' he said, trying to convince himself.

  'That winnae stop her, lad,' the old man said, and peered into Freddy's eyes. 'Don't even think about running, because she'll find you. And here –' he rummaged in his bag and handed Freddy an old horse shoe.

  Freddy took it, and looked doubtful.

  'Keep it on your window sill – the Shee winnae cross iron. I always have one about me, for emergencies like this.'

  Freddy the Fearless spent the night with his head under the covers, dreading the sound of fingernails on his window again. How was he ever to escape this hellish place?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Battle

  The next morning, with his eyes red from lack of sleep and his hair pointing in every direction but down, Freddy sat in the dining room waiting for breakfast. He had not eaten since his precious piece of chocolate, for Madam had sent him to bed without any dinner. He was half fainting through hunger and tiredness.

  Perfect Priscilla was sitting at the head of one of the long bench tables. A horde of pink ballerinas sat around her. Priscilla said something, and they all looked at Freddy and giggled. Freddy scowled. He hated girls.

  Ginger came and sat next to him. 'Here.' She slid him another piece of chocolate.

  'Thanks.' His eyes lit up, and he hid it in his pocket before anyone saw – just in time.

  'Frederick-smells-of-sick, licks his bum, what a drip!'

  Freddy jumped around in outrage to see the piggy pink faces of his cousins.

  'Clear off, Werens, this is a wolf's table,' he snarled.

  'Oh, we are sooo scared of a poodle and a clumpclopper!' Harriet squealed.

  Freddy squished his cheeks forward with his hands, until he looked as chubby as them. 'Sorry, I don't speak piglish,' he mimicked.
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  'Dunderbrain.' Harriet scowled and the twins ran over to sit with Priscilla.

  Priscilla looked over at him and then turned her perfect nose into the air. 'Oh, he is so dumb.'

  Freddy blew a raspberry at her. 'With ketchup on,' he called.

  'You're funny,' Ginger said, and sneezed.

  'Yeah, I know. Great howls, I'm starving,' he groaned, laying his head on the table. 'A wolf cannot survive on spinach.'

  'Why do you keep saying wolf?' Ginger frowned.

  'Erm . . . it's a nickname. Oh, yes! Food at last!'

  He jumped up and did a twitchy dance of anticipation as two ladies brought in the breakfast.

  'Yummy!' he cried as his bowl was placed in front of him. Then his face fell in despair.

  Ginger looked over. 'Ergh!'

  'It's horse poo!' Freddy prodded it with his spoon.

  'Why didn't you want cereal?' Ginger asked, pointing to her bowl.

  'I didn't ask for this! I'm not a total twerpoid,' he cried.

  'Oh, but you did, zir,' Madam said from behind him.

  Freddy leapt high. Did she appear from thin air?

  'You zaid you would razzer eat ze poo zan danze, zo voila. You cannot win, you know. Zis show in Inverness means everyzink to me, and to win ze prize I need a Prince Charming. You eat ze poo, or danze.'

  'No way will this wolf dance,' Freddy declared and picked up a piece of the poo. He held it up for all to see and then, with gasps and screams from the room, he put it in his mouth.

  'So-ooo gross!' Priscilla shuddered.

  'Yummy-yum.' Freddy gave a brown grin and swallowed.

  Ginger erupted into laughter, while the other ballerinas sat down, went green, and fanned each other.

  Madam took a step forward and the hairs on her mole shot out towards Freddy like hideous, grasping tentacles. Freddy and Ginger, the only ones to see, leapt back in alarm. The hairs withdrew.

  'You vill zubmit to me, zir, and very zoon,' the lady assured him.

  'Never,' Freddy croaked as she limped away, but he wasn't so certain. 'That was weird.'

  'But not as weird as you eating poo,' Ginger said.

  'Ah! But that was the Plan Master's trick.' Freddy laughed in triumph and withdrew the piece of horse poo from his pocket. 'It was the chocolate. I switched.'

  'Excellent! You can have half my cereal as a reward.'

  'Fantabulous.' Freddy laughed in relief. Food at last!

  'Hey you! Tight pants!' the dinner lady called, as Freddy wiggled from the room. He sighed in despair. Why? Why him?

  'They're not pants, they're tights!'

  'Well, hey you, tight tights, then.'

  'What?' Freddy grumped. He was not treated with the respect due to a noble hero.

  'Madam says you're to take this down to the gates.' She showed him a big green wheelie bin.

  Is that all she can think of? Freddy thought to himself. He had obviously won the battle with Madam Tarot and her mole.

  'No problemo!' he snorted. Taking the bin would give him a chance to see the lay of the land. In the early morning sun, his memory of the Baa-Van was fading, and escape looked tempting once again.

  With a shuffle, he un-wedgified the pink tights from his bum, readjusted his Prince Charming jacket, and began to pull the wheelie bin down the long gravel driveway. For a while the lane was a tunnel of rhododendron bushes and then, suddenly, they thinned out and Freddy could see the landscape. For as far as he could see, in every direction were high, rolling moorlands covered in heather. It would take him a day of walking even to reach the horizon.

  'Oh, great farts,' he groaned. He pushed open the big iron gates and pulled the plastic bin outside. The grey tarmac road stretched away into the distance, and then somewhere, at the end of that road, was Inverness, a railway, and an escape route to home and freedom. But at the thought of his father and Batty, Chester's warning returned to him. Even if he could outrun the Baa-Van, he had no doubt that Madam would report his disappearance immediately to Chester Puceley, and that would spell the end for his father.

  No, for once in his life, Freddy would think before he did something stupid. He would bide his time and outwit his enemies.

  Out of nowhere three hard-boiled eggs hit him on the head. As he jumped around in outrage, he tripped and nosedived into a ditch. He landed on his forehead in the mud with a splat.

  'Stinky feet!' The wheelie bin was teetering. It fell onto its side and tipped the leftovers of last night's spinach surprise over him. He leapt up out of the ditch in a fury and stood on a rock, his hands on his hips. He scanned the heather and rocks for his cousins – up to their old tricks again. Rotten spinach drooled down his face like soggy bogies.

  'Oh yes, very funny,' he yelled. 'You'd better come out now, pathetic pink Werens, because wolfy is going to kick your flabby bums.'

  'Who did you call pathetic, wimp?' answered a voice he was not expecting. His shoulders sagged a little.

  'Oops,' he said to himself faintly, as the shaven head of Vinny appeared from behind a rock. He didn't look at all pathetic, nor like a girlie fluff bunny.

  What was he doing here?

  Two of Vinny's friends jumped onto the tarmac and all three walked towards Freddy. They were wearing camouflage trousers, green t-shirts and big heavy boots. In fact, it was exactly the outfit Freddy would have worn on adventure camp. Vinny stood in the middle of the road and stared across at Freddy.

  'And what 'ave you come as then – a princess?'

  'A wolf, why? Are you scared?' Freddy raised his eyebrows.

  'Do I look scared, Cinderella?' The big boy glared.

  Freddy had to admit that he didn't. 'This is private property.' He summoned his courage, and flung his finger down the road. 'You'd better leave now.'

  'And who's going to make me, fluff bunny?' Vinny snorted.

  'I might!' Freddy posed like a karate superhero, but as he had to untwang his tights from his bum again, it wasn't terribly convincing.

  'Hoo-aah!' Vinny suddenly leapt forward.

  'Argh!' Before he remembered to be brave, Freddy jumped away and hurtled back into the ditch once again.

  'Groof!' He landed on the mud and garbage, his face glowing with shame. It had never been part of his heroic plan to be a coward.

  Vinny and his friends stood on the edge of the ditch looking down.

  'What a girl,' Vinny sneered. 'Not even worth squishing.'

  'Yes, I am worth it!' Freddy scowled at them.

  Vinny laughed. 'Okay, so if I catch you outside again, Cinders, you get squished. Stay inside your school for sissies, if you know what's good for you.'

  With that the boys disappeared.

  Freddy climbed out of his ditch and watched the boys racing off down the lane.

  'Bit of trouble, laddie?' Dougal shuffled up next to him, and looked at the brown and green stains on Freddy's dishevelled Charming outfit.

  'Nothing I couldn't handle,' Freddy declared.

  'They'll be the boys from the boot camp a mile down the glen,' Dougal said.

  'Boot camp? That doesn't sound much fun.'

  'No, not at all,' the old man agreed. 'All army games: canoeing, abseiling, rockclimbing and mountain hiking. No place for a delicate wee lad like you.'

  'I'm not delicate, I'm tough!' Freddy roared.

  It was so unfair! Why couldn't he swap places with Vinny? He'd give anything to be him, instead of Prince Charming in tights. He was so glad his father couldn't see him at that moment. He wasn't exactly saving his pack from the danger he had placed them in. Well, at least Flasheart was safe. As long as Freddy behaved himself, his father was in no immediate danger.

  Chester Puceley had arrived back at Farfang Castle late the previous evening. Mrs Mutton had been delighted to see him – he was always so charming and polite.

  'My, my, Mrs Mutton, you look good enough to put on a birthday cake.' The man smiled and stroked his moustache.

  Mrs Mutton gave a shriek and slapped her leg. 'Get away with you!'
She blushed like a girl. 'I'll make you some tea.'

  Chester winked and walked towards the study. Once there, his smile fell away and he locked the door. He searched through the drawers of the desk.

  'Aha! Exactly where he said it would be.' He picked up a small key, and placed it in his pocket.

  Chester opened the door once again and, after listening to make sure Mrs Mutton was still busy in the kitchen, he crossed the Great Hall and carefully slipped through the large front door. In the light of the three-quarter moon he crossed the bridge, walked through the rose garden and into the woods. After a few minutes he reached a clearing in which there was a small stone hut with candlelight flickering inside. Chester opened the door.

  'Do you have it? The key, sir! The key.' A large man with bushy red eyebrows stepped forward into the candlelight.

  'Yes, but do I have your word, Hotspur? Half the Treasure of Bane will be mine?'

  'Yes, yes, of course – you have the word of a wolf! But I get Flasheart and the boy, sir!'

  Sir Hotspur gave a wild stare. Slowly Chester held out the key and dropped it onto Hotspur's hairy palm. The Fangen closed his hand greedily. In a second he had removed the chain and Moonstone from around his neck.

  'At last! I shall have what is mine once again, and Flasheart will rue the day he ever returned to Farfang,' he roared. 'And as for that foolster Frederick – I'll squish him! Squish him like a jellied frog, that I will, sir!'

  'Okay . . .' Chester interrupted, 'so now we've got the vows of revenge out of the way, perhaps we can get down to business?' He moved the candle and laid his parchment on the table.

  'Where exactly is the entrance to the Hidden Halls?'

  Batty withdrew her muzzle from the gap under the hut's door. She was right not to have trusted Chester Puceley, for here he was with Freddy's hateful uncle, the very man who had betrayed his own family. They were up to something, and she had a deep sense that Freddy was in danger. She had to warn him, but how? She lay on the ground in the shadow of the hut for some minutes, unsure of what to do. Then her ears jumped high as the idea pinged into her head.

  She ran back to the castle, through the back door and up the spiral stairs to Freddy's tower room. She pulled the long sausage bag from under his bed – the label was still on the handle. She gave a howl of delight at her plan.