by Jayne Lyons
In the woods, frowning over the map, Sir Hotspur froze. 'Is that the howl of a . . .' He could barely speak the word. '. . . a dog, sir? In my castle?'
'Yes, a stinking mongrel,' Chester confirmed. 'It should be at the bottom of the moat.'
'It soon will be, sir.' Hotspur shuddered. 'To think Flasheart has allowed Farfang to have fallen so low. But that can wait. Do you have a Blavendoch? It says here on your paper that the treasure cannot be discovered without it.'
'Ah – well, no,' Chester admitted. 'Freddo let us down there.'
'Of course he did, the boy's a foolster!' Sir Hotspur slammed his fist on the table. 'But never fear, there may be another way.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Cold Shower
Freddy walked back to the school disconsolately, scuffing his soft black ballet slippers on the gravel. How had the hero been reduced to this? At least it couldn't get any worse.
He looked up to see Madam waiting for him on the doorstep. The gargoyles on the grim grey building laughed and gurned down at him. The tiny lady looked him up and down in distaste. Bits of spinach were matted into his hair, and his pink tights were black with mud.
'Zis is ze only boy's outfit we have.' She frowned in disgust.
'And you burnt all my clothes!' he growled, in no mood for politeness.
Her mole hairs reached out for him and he leaned back – that was too weird.
'And you ztink.' She twitched her nose.
'He always does.' Harriet's hateful face peeked out from behind Madam.
'Who asked you, cheese-brain?' Freddy glared.
'You vill take ze zhower.' Madam pointed around the side of the house. 'But in ze outhouse. Chariot, my cherub, zhow him vere to go! Get clean, boy, and you can eat later.'
Although reluctant to do anything to please Madam, the thought of food was too tempting. Half a bowl of cereal and a chocolate poo had not really been enough. With his nose in the air, he slouched off behind Chariot.
'In there, dog-stench.' The pink boy pointed and gave Freddy a friendly kick.
'Thanks, fart-breath.' Freddy dead-legged his cousin. He couldn't stand those twins.
'Great,' he muttered when he saw the old stone room. Cold wind howled in through a broken window, and there were cobwebs everywhere. Freddy tried to look cool in front of Chariot, but was rather nervous about the prospect of spiders.
'Clear off now, dung-pong,' Freddy ordered, and slammed the door.
With a forlorn sigh, he peeled off his muddy clothes and hung them on a hook. He looked about – there was just a small hand towel and the only soap was a bottle of dog shampoo. Surely it was a conspiracy? Shivering, he stepped inside the shower and pulled the curtain shut. He turned on the taps and yelped as the icy water splashed onto him. With many a squeak and squeal, he jumped in and out of the water. At last it became slightly warm and he managed to stick his head under to wash off the spinach. He rubbed the dog shampoo in his hair.
'Urgh!' It smelt like the worst, pongiest puke. 'Ow – ow – it hurts!'
The shampoo was in his eyes. Before he could wash it out the water stopped. He heard a squeal of piggy laughter. Harriet had outwitted him again!
He reached blindly for the towel and fell into the shower curtain.
'Ow!' he yelped as it pinged off its little plastic hooks and he fell onto the cold stone floor. He rolled around, the soap stinging his eyes and his feet slipping. He just managed to reach up and grab the towel. He was wiping his face when the door burst open and in leapt Chariot with a camera. Freddy was lying on the floor tied up in the curtain, but a skinny buttock complete with a Blavendoch birthmark was exposed. With a scream of triumph, Chariot took a photo and slammed out again.
'No way!' Freddy roared. 'I'm going to chop you into piggly pieces and post you to boggart's bottom!' He clambered up and looked around for his clothes. They had gone!
He stood dripping in the freezing room, unable to believe the extent of the twins' evil genius.
'You bring my stuff back right now, or I'll, I'll . . . I'll show you!' All he heard in reply was the twins' gurgling laughter fading into the distance.
Freddy looked in despair at the tiny towel – it wouldn't even go around his waist. He wrapped himself in the shower curtain and hoped for a miracle.
It came. Ginger knocked at the door. 'Hey Freddy, what are you doing? It's time for class.'
Freddy explained his predicament.
'Oh, no problem, wait two seconds.' The girl laughed and skipped away.
It seemed more like ten minutes to Freddy, as he shivered in the cold.
'What took you so long?' he said grumpily, when her cheerful voice rang out again.
'Trying to find you some clothes, of course. Here you go – not looking.' Ginger opened the door and threw in the garments.
'You've got to be joking! I am not wearing a skirt!' he cried, holding up the tartan kilt.
'It's no' a skirt, foolie,' scoffed Ginger. 'It's a highlander clan warrior's kilt! It was Dougal's when he was a wee boy. That's Hunting MacLeod tartan – it's an honour for you to wear it.'
'Highland warrior?' Freddy's eyes brightened. 'Hunting MacLeod?'
Well, this was more like it.
'Okay! Let's rock!' He laughed and changed into his new clothes.
'Hurry though, don't make Madam any crosser,' Ginger called and sprinted back to the studio.
Freddy had to pause several times to admire himself in the various mirrors scattered about the hallways as he walked to the studio. Although not one to brag, he had to admit that he looked rather heroic and impressive. He even had a little silver dagger, which he pulled out of a sock and waved at his reflection with a snarl.
So much for the twins' efforts to defeat him.
All the ballerinas except Priscilla gasped with admiration when he strutted into the room. He fired his fingers at them like pistols. Ginger laughed, but the twins were obviously dismayed that their trick had backfired so badly.
Priscilla, who had been putting the girls through their exercises as they waited for Madam, paused, her arms in a perfect circle above her head. Her eyes narrowed at him. Freddy only grinned in reply. Priscilla's eyes moved to Ginger, who was limping into line with the other ballerinas.
'And just what do you think you are doing?' Priscilla hissed at her.
'The same as everyone else: dancing,' the smaller girl replied.
'Not with me, Clip-Clop. Dancers have to be perfect.'
'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me!' Ginger said.
'Really? Do names really not hurt, runt, skinnybones, crook-back? You will never be a dancer like me, so just stick with your own kind – losers.'
Freddy's eyes narrowed dangerously as Ginger's filled with tears.
'Oh, help, somebody help me!' He collapsed on the floor, grasping his neck.
The ballerinas gathered around him, cooing in concern.
'Priscilla did a trump.' He gasped for air. 'Her bottom burp is gassing me.'
The ballerinas looked at Priscilla.
'Get up, idiot,' she hissed, and poked him with her toe. 'He's lying, look at his ears.'
'Can't breathe, can't breathe.' Freddy writhed around. He blew a raspberry. You would have sworn it came from Priscilla's bum.
'She's guffed again.' He crawled on the floor, holding his hand up for rescue.
'Never fear, Freddy, I'll save you!' Ginger held her nose and reached her hand to him.
'No, her bum is too dangerous. Fly, you fools, save yourselves!' Freddy cried. He blew another raspberry and then shrieked in terror. 'No-ooo!'
'He's lying! He's lying!' Priscilla screamed, purple with humiliation. 'The one who smelt it, dealt it.'
'The one who said the rhyme, did the crime,' Freddy replied.
'Argh!' Priscilla wailed in fury and stamped her foot.
'Oh, help, she's coming back to suffocate me.'
Most of the girls were giggling now.
'Stop laughin
g!' Priscilla ordered, and stamped her foot again. That only made them laugh more.
'Stop it now, idiot. Nobody else thinks I bottomburped, because I'm beautiful and . . . and if you don't stop, then . . . I will hunt you down and destroy you!' Priscilla's face was perfectly ugly with hatred.
'The gas, the gas,' Freddy croaked.
Priscilla put her head back and screeched in fury.
The little pink ballerinas all drew away in fright. As Freddy stood up, Priscilla glared at them all.
'I am the leader here!' she declared, pointing her finger. 'He is just a . . . dog in a skirt.' She pointed at Ginger. 'And she is a deformed dwarf.'
The ballerinas looked at each other.
'I am the Boldovian National Champion Ballerina! So everyone forget that idiot and practise your steps. Now! One two three, one two three, one two three . . .'
Priscilla tried to calm her voice. She patted her hair back into its perfect bun. No-one was following her. She stopped and looked at the class.
'Madam left me in charge!' she reminded them, but still no-one made a move – all the ballerinas were disgusted with her behaviour.
'How about this, girls . . . hi-ya!' Freddy leapt into a karate pose.
'You practise your positions, or I tell Madam,' Priscilla warned. The girls looked at each other again and scowled – no-one likes a snitch.
'Hi-ya!' The ballerinas jumped into combat positions.
Two days of Perfect Priscilla Puceley was already enough.
Far away in England, Sugar Smith walked into the grounds of Dreamy Daze Maximum Security Hospital for the Completely Confused.
'Thank you so much for coming, Ms Smith.' The male nurse shook her hand. 'We are all great fans. Any sign of the wolf-boy yet?'
'No, sir, but I keep hoping.' Sugar smiled. 'I'm due to go back to the USA soon, and I hate to leave a mystery unsolved. So why does Dr Cripp wish to see me?' she asked, as they stepped through the security doors. The nurse led her down a long corridor.
'I think it best if he explains that himself, Ms Smith.' The nurse raised his eyebrows. 'It's a bit of a tall story, but he wouldn't rest until we agreed to contact you. I must warn you – Cripp can be a little . . . creepy.'
With a smile, he held open the door to Dr Cripp's room. With her heart fluttering a little, America's top reporter stepped inside. The wolf hunter was sitting in the corner, scribbling madly with soft crayons. He looked up eagerly and leapt from his chair when he saw her.
'At last! Another believer,' he cried. 'Leave us, you fool.' He glared at the nurse.
Sugar raised her eyes in alarm.
'Don't worry, he's harmless,' the nurse assured her. 'Just ring the bell when you want to leave.' With that he left, and Sugar sat down nervously on the spongy visitor's seat.
'Recognise this?' Cripp's eyes gleamed maniacally as he thrust a piece of paper onto the table.
Sugar looked uncertainly at the stick drawing.
'Is it a dog?' she wondered.
''Tis a wolf, my dear, but not a normal wolf.' Cripp pushed another stick drawing to her. Sugar shrugged in confusion. It looked just the same as the last one.
'It is your wolf, the Black Wolf of Milford – see his scar?' Cripp pointed to a black zigzag on his drawing.
Sugar looked with more interest. She had seen the scar on the wolf's shoulder, but nothing had been said about it on the TV show.
'How do you know about that?'
'Because . . .' Cripp's voice lowered and his staring eyes began to steam up his glasses. '. . . I shot him there!' He licked his lips.
Sugar sat back in revulsion.
'Why would you do such a terrible thing?'
'Because it is an unnatural creature,' said Dr Cripp dismissively. 'I should have killed him when I had the chance. Now you have him captured, we can finish my work.' He cackled madly.
'Never!'
'It is a monster and must be destroyed!' Cripp slammed his crayon across the drawing.
'It is an animal and must be protected,' Sugar cried. 'World's Most Wanted only wishes to help Mother Nature's wildlife.'
Cripp laughed again. 'He is no creature of nature –' he held up another picture, which showed the wolf transforming to a stick man – 'but a Fangen – a werewolf!'
'There's no such thing . . .' Sugar stammered.
'Look into its eyes and you will see that they are a human's eyes.' Cripp nodded again. 'The wild wolfboy is his son, and I know where to find him.' He held up his drawing of Farfang Castle. 'They are all impure, creatures of tainted blood, evil beyond reclaim. We must destroy them, before they destroy us!' Dr Cripp's glasses were now completely steamed up.
Sugar shook her head. It was impossible to believe and yet . . . she had looked into the wolf's eyes many times, and he had not seemed like a mere animal.
'Help me escape this place and I will give you the biggest story the world has ever known.'
Sugar's eyes brightened; it was her dream to be the world's greatest reporter.
Cripp pushed back his greasy hair, licked his lips, and gave what he imagined was a charming smile.
Sugar stood up uncertainly. 'I need time to think,' she said, and ran from the room.
Late that night, Sugar walked across the floodlit green and up to the cage that held Flasheart. She gave the marksman in his tower a wave and he nodded at her, unconcerned, and turned away.
As soon as he saw her, Flasheart jumped up and walked over. His green eyes sparkled at her through the bars. Sugar looked at him curiously.
'What are you really?' she whispered.
The wolf only stared back in reply.
Perhaps Cripp was right?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Defeat
'Frederick, I vish to zee you in my office!' Madam walked into the studio. The girls all seemed to be practising karate, rather than their dance steps.
Freddy began to feel a little nervous as he walked to the headmistress's office. His nerves increased as she looked at him knowingly and turned on the television. The clips from World's Most Wanted Wildlife played across the screen. Freddy gasped when he saw a news update of his father pacing across his cage. Then his worst fears were realised as the images of his Blavendoch flashed onto the screen.
'Have you seen the wild wolf-boy?' the advert asked. 'Reward now ten thousand pounds.'
Madam flicked the television off and held up a photograph. Freddy recognised himself lying on the outhouse floor wrapped in the shower curtain. His birthmark was unmistakably the same as that of the boy on the TV.
'Traitors,' he muttered, thinking of the twins. It was against the Pact of the Fangen ever to reveal the identity of the werefolk.
'I do not know vhat you have done, boy, and I don't care.' Madam smiled. 'I cannot loze. Eizer you disobey me again, zen I haze a ten zousand pound reward, or elze you obey me and danze at ze festival. Vhich iz it?' Her mole hairs wiggled at him.
'I'll dance.' Freddy scowled.
'Exzellent! Now ve return to ze ztudio.'
Not even looking at Priscilla or the twins, Freddy stomped into line with the ballerinas.
'Now! Von two zree.'
Madam hit the beat and Freddy, proud werewolf hero, pointed his tippiest of toes – defeated.
Very early that morning, Batty had dragged Freddy's bag down to the front gates of Farfang. She gave a loud bark when she saw the milkman's van trundling around the corner. She and Freddy often hitched a lift into town on the back of it.
'Well, morning there, Batty.' The milkman waved as he replaced the empty bottles with full ones. 'No Freddy today?'
Batty gave two loud barks and jumped on the back of the truck. She had a little difficulty pulling the large bag up after her.
'Here we go.' The milkman gave a laugh and threw the bag up for her. He ruffled her ears. Really, it was impossible not to like her.
Batty travelled into Milford looking ahead eagerly. The wind wafted her fur and her tongue lolled out of her mouth. When the milkman's del
iveries were complete, he parked his truck for the day. The dairy was next to the railway station. With a bark of thanks, Batty jumped off the back and pulled her bag down after her.
It was still very early and not many people were at the station. Skilled at manoeuvres, Batty waited until the ticket lady's back was turned, and then she pulled her bag onto the platform. She saw a pile of parcels on a trolley waiting for the train. In a minute she had dragged her bag to the pile, and in another, she had climbed inside it. After much struggling with her teeth and claws, she managed to pull the zip closed. She left a small hole from which one eye could peek, and one nostril could breathe, then she lay quiet.
Half an hour later, the Great Northern Train approached with a whistle, and Batty became very still. The porter looked at the label on the bag.
'Long journey for this one,' he called and threw the bag into the luggage car. Batty held back her groan as she slammed onto the hard floor.
'Drumbogie House – near Inverness.' He laughed. 'Bogie!' he called to the driver. 'Get it . . . Bogie?'
The train began to pull away from the station and Batty let out her breath in relief. She was on her way.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ballet Hero
Freddy practised all day. As much as he hated to admit it, he appeared to be a natural. Steps that would normally have taken students weeks to perfect he picked up in an instant.
'You're a born dancer, Freddy,' Ginger said in admiration.
'I am not!' Freddy insisted, as he pirouetted perfectly on his toes, his kilt swinging as he went. 'I'm a fearsome creature.'
'You're funny,' Ginger smiled, tripping over again.
'Try to keep up, Clip-Clop,' Priscilla said with a scowl.
Lunch was a miserable business of broccoli and green beans, but at least it was food.
In the afternoon, Freddy's nimbleness on his dainty toes impressed even Madam.
'Now for ze lift.' She tapped her stick. 'Vhere is my Zinderella?'
Priscilla walked up and looked at Freddy coolly. 'Don't drop me, wimp!'