Lessons for a Werewolf Warrior

by Jackie French

  Boo looked up. A big silver-haired werewolf stood next to Mr Bigpaws. One of the visitor’s eyes was covered with a patch, but the other was the most piercing blue that Boo had ever seen. The stranger was carrying a rolled-up poster in his mouth. As Boo watched he dropped it by the sofa, then limped into the room after Mr Bigpaws, tactfully not widdling his mark on the doorpost, even though he was obviously a very Top Dog indeed.

  There was something strange about this werewolf’s legs, thought Boo. Then he realised. One leg was made of wood, with hinges at the paw and knee.

  Clink, clunk went the wooden paw on the floor.

  ‘Boojum Bark?’ enquired the newcomer.

  Boo stood up. Something about this visitor made you want to stand up straight.

  ‘Woof!’ he said politely.

  The newcomer stared down his long silver-grey nose at him. ‘Woof,’ he said at last. ‘So this is Boojum Bark.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Bigpaws. ‘Boo, you remember we sent out a Howl for a Hero?’

  Boo nodded.

  ‘Well here he is! This is the Werewolf General! The great Silver Fang himself!’ There was awe in the Mayor’s voice.

  ‘Sir!’ Boo stood even straighter and tried to straighten his tail to attention too. ‘I … I thought Silver Fang was just a character in a story!’ he blurted out.

  The Werewolf General smiled, showing long yellow fangs. ‘The stories they tell about me are true’, he said. ‘Mostly, anyhow.’

  A Hero, thought Boo. A real live Hero in the Bigpaws’ living room! ‘I’ve never met a Hero before.’

  ‘A retired Hero,’ growled the Werewolf General. He tapped his wooden leg on the floor. ‘I don’t do much Heroing these days. Seem to spend most of my time arguing on committees. But this case brought me out of retirement. The Interuniversal Council of Heroes asked me to come and see you. It’s a nice place you have here,’ he added to Mr Bigpaws.

  Boo looked round at the puppy-chewed sofa, the paw prints on the window where Spot had chased a fly last night, the bone half-hidden under the mat.

  The Werewolf General’s grey whiskers twitched as he smiled. ‘It’s a home,’ he said simply. ‘That’s one thing that Heroes don’t get time for, mostly. Homes.’ The big wolf’s muzzle was scarred and his ears were a bit tattered too. But he was still the biggest, strongest-looking werewolf Boo had ever seen.

  ‘Sit down, Boojum. Or do you prefer Boo?’ said the Werewolf General, sitting on his haunches himself. ‘Oh, thank you,’ he said to Mr Bigpaws, as Spot padded in and offered him a bowl of water with a bit of Mrs Bigpaws’s freshly squeezed frog juice.

  ‘Boo,’ replied Boo politely.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ said Mr Bigpaws tactfully. He shepherded Spot from the room. The Werewolf General lapped for a second, then looked up at Boo again, his long tongue dripping. ‘Well, young pup,’ he said. ‘I have to congratulate you.’

  ‘Me?’ said Boo. ‘But … but, sir, it was all my fault! If I’d just thought a bit more quickly …’ He stopped, his throat choked up again.

  ‘Boo.’ The Werewolf General’s voice was gentler now. ‘What you did was amazing. Not one werewolf in a million could have come up with a plan like that. Mr Bigpaws didn’t, did he?’

  Boo shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And he’s the Mayor — and with a lot more experience than you! Even Mrs Bigpaws didn’t find a way to get free — and a mother wolf can be the most ferocious creature in the universes when her pups are threatened. You’re a Hero, Boo.’

  ‘Me?’ squeaked Boo.

  The Werewolf General looked at him seriously. ‘Yes, you. Perhaps you’re even a real Hero. Not someone who just does something heroic once. But someone who is a deep-down Hero. You have the potential to be a professional Hero, boy. You never suspected it?’

  Boo shook his head numbly. Him? A Hero? Impossible! Heroes were … strong. And brave. He wasn’t either of those. He was cute! He had a curly tail! The only things he was good at were leaving droppings and making ice cream. And smelling very accurately. Heroes had names like Mighty Claws or Sparkle Fang. Not Boojum Bark.

  The Werewolf General sat back and scratched a flea. ‘You saved the town. Without you the Greedle would have had the whole town frozen. In years to come, people would have found the crumbled ruins of Sleepy Whiskers and wondered who must have lived here. Everything would have been gone.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Boo. ‘Who … I mean what is the Greedle? Do you know how it got here? Do you …’ He gulped. ‘Do you know where my mum might be?’

  The Werewolf General scratched another itch near his ear. ‘Are you sure you want to know, Boo?’

  ‘Of course!’

  The Werewolf General smiled, showing his long fangs. ‘Most people don’t, you know. Most people want to think the universes are nice safe places always, that tomorrow will always be like today. Do you want to know what’s really Out There, young Boo?’

  Boo gulped. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell you,’ said the Werewolf General.

  6

  Wormholes through Universes

  ‘How much do you know about Heroes, Boo?’ asked the Werewolf General, settling down onto the Bigpaws’ mat and scratching his ear with his hind leg.

  ‘Not much,’ admitted Boo, sitting on his haunches next to him. ‘Mum read me a book about you, though,’ he added shyly.

  ‘I see,’ said the Werewolf General. ‘Well then. Do you know what a bogey is?’

  ‘Someone who picks his nose a lot?’

  ‘No. A bogey is a creature from the Ghastly Otherwhen. The Ghastly Otherwhen is another universe. The Greedle rules the Ghastly Otherwhen. It has the ability to tame other creatures, like the Zurms and the Roaches, and make them do its bidding. Bogeys invade other universes to find things for the Greedle. Food mostly.’

  ‘Woooof!’ said Boo slowly. Boo had hardly considered other towns, much less other universes.

  The Werewolf General grinned. His fangs really did sparkle, even in the winter light from the window. ‘Why do you think your shop was called the best one in the universes?’

  ‘I never really thought about it,’ said Boo.

  ‘Most universes are okay, though different from ours. In some of them people don’t turn into wolves at all. They just stay in human form.’

  ‘Weird,’ said Boo.

  ‘There’s a Phaery World, too, where no one grows more than thirty centimetres high and everyone has wings.’

  ‘Like butterflies?’ asked Boo. He and the other pups in the gang sometimes played a game of lying very still and snapping butterflies when they tried to land on their noses.

  The Werewolf General seemed to read his thoughts. ‘If you try snapping a phaery you’ll regret it.’ He grinned. ‘I used to snap butterflies too when I was a pup. No, most of the other universes are pretty much like ours. But the Ghastly Otherwhen is … different.

  ‘Everything from the Ghastly Otherwhen is bad. Or we think so. We don’t know really what it’s like. No one has ever managed to go there — or come back to tell us about it if they have. But if the Greedle controls it — well, it must be bad.’

  ‘But how did the Greedle get here?’ demanded Boo. You can’t just get a tortoise train from another universe, he thought.

  ‘The Zurms dig wormholes between the universes. In fact, all the connections between universes are because of the Greedle’s Zurms. We’d never even have known about each other if not for them.’

  Boo stared. ‘Wormholes?’ Wormy Ripple was the fourth most popular flavour in the ice-cream shop.

  ‘Most worms chew through dirt. The Zurms chew holes through the fabric of reality and …’ The Werewolf General saw Boo’s blank look. He stood up, shoving his wooden leg a bit awkwardly till it was in line with his other three. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘Show me a wormhole? Where?’

  The Werewolf General’s fangs glinted as he grinned. ‘Guess.’

  Pad, p
ad, clink, clunk. Pad, pad, clink, clunk. The Werewolf General limped his way up the street to the Best Ice-Cream Shop in the Universes.

  The snow had melted into puddles now. Pups chased balls of Christmas wrapping paper along the footpath. The Werewolf General stood back to let a tortoise train pass, then climbed the steps up to the shop and pushed open the door with his nose. He sniffed deeply, then lifted his leg.

  He glanced at Boo. ‘May I?’ he asked politely.

  ‘What? Oh, of course.’ Boo blushed. Imagine a Top Dog like the Werewolf General asking if he could widdle on the doorpost!

  ‘Woof! Good scents in here! Is that Dog Biscuit Sorbet I can smell?’

  Boo nodded. The shop felt so cold. Not just winter cold, but empty cold, like all their happy life had vanished.

  ‘And Rat Surprises.’ The Werewolf General looked back from the menu. ‘Why do you call them Rat Surprises?’

  ‘Well, it’s a surprise for the rats,’ Boo managed.

  ‘I see.’ The Werewolf General bit back a smile. ‘Where are your bedrooms? Through here?’

  ‘Our what?’

  The Werewolf General just looked at him down his long grey-fuzzed nose. Boo gulped. ‘This way, sir. Mum’s is the first room, and mine’s the next.’ And a mess, he thought. But there was no Mum around to tell him to bury his bones now.

  He led the way down the corridor.

  Mum’s room was just as she had left it: the frilly bedspread, Mum’s collars neatly hanging on hooks by her mirror, the pig’s ear she’d been chewing on the bedside table …

  The Werewolf General sat back on his haunches. ‘Right, this is a test. What place is every pup scared of? Where does every pup know, deep in their hearts, that evil lurks?’

  ‘Grrr …’ Suddenly Boo understood. ‘Woof! Under the bed?’

  ‘Exactly. All of us know instinctively that the dark place under the bed is something to be scared of. But most adults just won’t admit it.’ The Werewolf General shook his head. ‘I don’t know if the Greedle gets its Zurms to put their tunnel entrances under beds because it’s a traditionally scary place, or we feel they’re scary because we know that things like tunnels might be there. But every time a Zurm tunnels between the universes the hole comes out …’

  Boo stared at Mum’s neat bedspread, with its pattern of bones and butterflies. ‘… under a bed.’

  The Werewolf General nodded. ‘Yours or your mother’s, in this case. Well, Boo? Are you brave enough to look?’

  ‘Y … y … yes. I mean, grrr!!’ Boo crept over to Mum’s bed, and stuck his nose under the bedspread. It was dark under there, but there was still enough light to see.

  Nothing.

  He drew back. ‘There’s nothing there.’

  The Werewolf General raised a shaggy grey eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, of …’ Boo hesitated. Was he sure? True, there was no great gaping hole there, big enough to fit a vat of ice cream, a Zurm, the Greedle, Mum and the Roaches. But there’d been a sort of smell … an almost popcorn smell …

  He crept forward again, and sniffed. ‘There is something there,’ he growled, puzzled. ‘The scent of popcorn is stronger here. But I can’t see anything!’

  ‘Good dog.’ The Werewolf General calmly scratched a flea behind his left ear. ‘Now work it out.’

  ‘Um … could it be an invisible hole?’

  ‘No such thing as invisible holes. A hole is a hole.’

  ‘Then …’ Suddenly Boo understood. ‘It’s shut! That’s why I couldn’t smell it till I put my nose under the bed! That’s why I couldn’t smell where they’d taken Mum!’

  ‘Correct. So how do you open a hole between the universes?’

  Boo sat down on his haunches too, and tried to think.

  Grrr! Grrr! How did you open a wormhole? There wasn’t a handle, or he’d have seen it. Maybe it was a word or phrase, like ‘Abracadabra’ or ‘Open Sesame’. But surely he’d have heard the Greedle say something as it vanished down the hallway. His werewolf ears could pick up even a whisper. A hidden lever?

  And then he had it.

  ‘I think I know the secret,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The secret is … there is no secret!’

  Boo felt the Werewolf General’s eyes on him as he padded across the chilly floor, then crouched and crawled under the bed. He lay there, waiting.

  Nothing happened.

  For a moment he was sure he’d got it wrong. Then suddenly the floor beneath him began to drop.

  He could smell dirt, popcorn and damp, and …

  ‘Stop!’ barked the Werewolf General.

  ‘But …’ began Boo.

  ‘Come back! Heel, Boo! Heel!’

  Boo leapt back up to the bedroom floor. He glanced behind him. The floor had returned to its normal level now.

  ‘What … what happened? Is it magic?’

  The Werewolf General grinned, showing all his fangs. ‘Heroes don’t need magic! You worked out how to do it, that’s all.’

  ‘But don’t you see what this means!’ cried Boo. ‘We can go and get Mum back!’

  The Werewolf General raised one shaggy eyebrow again. ‘You and me, eh? The two of us trot down the wormhole to the Ghastly Otherwhen — a place no Hero has ever managed to escape from — bring your Mum back and have a nice bowl of dead-cow juice at the Bigpaws’? Is that what you’re thinking?’

  ‘Sort of,’ admitted Boo.

  ‘We wouldn’t stand a chance. I’m sorry, boy, but you just have to face it. There is no way to rescue your mother — none at all. Not from the Ghastly Otherwhen.’

  ‘But — but couldn’t we get other Heroes? Lots of Heroes together? Surely we can come up with some sort of plan?’

  The Werewolf General laughed, a little sadly. ‘I was like you once, boy. Eager to get out and save the universes! Well, I saved some people. And others …’ He gave a furry shrug. ‘Let’s not talk about those. No, boy, forget the past. Grieve for your mother, howl for her on the mountain top. But don’t ever think you’ll be able to bring her back, no matter how great a Hero you become.’

  ‘Hero!’ Boo gulped. ‘Me?’

  The Werewolf General grinned. ‘Come on back to the Bigpaws’. It’s time you learnt how to be a Hero properly.’

  7

  A School for Heroes

  It was warm back at the Bigpaws’. Mr and Mrs Bigpaws still seemed awed at having a genuine Hero in their home. Spot shyly brought Boo and the Werewolf General a couple of plates of crackly dried pigs’ ears, then left them alone in the living room.

  The Werewolf General lay down on the mat in front of the fire and stretched out his forelegs, both the real and the wooden one, in the manner of a wolf about to settle in for a long story.

  ‘I was like you once, young pup,’ he growled softly. ‘An ordinary werewolf living in a village pretty much like Sleepy Whiskers. Life was good — chasing wild boar … or sometimes they’d chase us. Sitting on the crags and howling at the full moon. The normal teenage things.

  ‘And then the Horrorlump arrived out of the Ghastly Otherwhen.’ The Werewolf General shook his silvery grey-furred head. ‘It had been sent by the Greedle, of course. The Greedle must have wanted your ice cream very badly to have come to get it. Usually it only sends its minions.’

  ‘What did the Greedle want in your village?’

  ‘Honey,’ said the Werewolf General crisply. ‘The bees gather the nectar in the Razorwood trees, and there’s no other honey like it in the universes. So the Greedle sent the Horrorlump to get it — and to take the bees and destroy our village, because the Greedle likes destroying things almost as much as it loves keeping the best food in the universes for itself. And it has always wanted to be sure that no one’s coming after it later, too.

  ‘Horrorlumps don’t stick their prey together with slime. They cut them into pieces and eat them with barbecue sauce.’

  ‘That bit was in the book,’ barked Boo eagerly. ‘The one that Mum rea
d me. Didn’t you Howl so loud and so high that all the snow fell down in an avalanche and buried the Horrorlump and —’

  ‘And then I was a Hero. But what the book wouldn’t have told you, is that then I went to Hero School.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Boo.

  The Werewolf General reached over and grabbed a rolled-up poster he’d dropped when he first entered the room. ‘The School for Heroes is the hard work you need to do to become a real Hero. The part most people don’t want to think about. See?’ he said.

  Boo stared at it. It had ‘School for Heroes’ written at the top and showed a handsome human about to punch an evil bogey. Boo could tell it was evil because it was snarling and its fangs were dripping blood. Words were exploding all around the Hero’s fist. Boo spelt them out slowly. ‘Wham! Bam! Pow! What do they mean, sir?’

  ‘They’re Hero techniques. Wham! Bam! Pow! is a form of martial arts that Heroes have to study. Just like you’re going to do.’

  ‘Me?’ squeaked Boo. ‘But I’ve already been to school! I was there for two whole years! I’m full up with education! I can read. I can even write. Well, sort of,’ he added honestly. ‘I dribble a bit when I hold the pen in my mouth and the paper gets all squishy.’

  ‘Just shut up and listen,’ growled the Werewolf General. ‘The School for Heroes isn’t an ordinary school.’

  ‘Where is it? Is it over near Werewolf City?’

  ‘It’s in another universe.’

  ‘Another universe! How do you get there?’

  ‘Stop yapping! Your mouth is robbing your ears!’

  Boo’s tail drooped between his legs.

  The General continued. ‘Anyone can use the Zurm tunnels once they know they are there. That’s how we Heroes can get to other universes to fight the bogeys. It’s how you get to the School for Heroes, too.

  ‘The School for Heroes is on a mountain …’ The Werewolf General smiled. ‘… A slightly unusual mountain. It’s called Rest in Pieces.’

  ‘Rest in Pieces? Woof,’ apologised Boo quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’