100% Wolf (3 page)

The twins continued laughing.

'Putrid pink pair!' Freddy shouted, picking up a
pillow. He chased them into the staircase and began
to aim blows at them.

'Oh help!' scoffed Harriet. 'A pillow? You are so
totally not scary.'

'You'll never be a wolf like my dad,' taunted
Chariot.

'No, I won't!' raged Freddy. 'I won't
be fat
like your
dad. I'll be a hero like Sir Rathbone and brave like
my
dad. At midnight you'll see! I'll make you shiver in
your shoes, pink piggies. Look what's happening.'

Freddy held up his hand. The twins stopped
laughing as the hairs on his palm twitched and curled
over.

'See? I'm getting ready,' Freddy said with a gleam
in his eye. He dropped his voice to an icy whisper.
'My blood is getting warmer. And when it's red-hot,
I'll look at the moon and ... Yooo-wooo! That's when
you'll see I am 100 per cent wolf, not like you pathetic
pink Werens. You'd better be hiding, too, because I'll
be coming to bite your farty pink backsides.' Chariot
opened his eyes with terror, but Harriet stuck her nose
in the air and flounced down the stairs.

'Oh yes! Ha-ha-hardy-ha!' cried Freddy in
triumph, aiming a final whack of his pillow at Chariot
as he followed his sister. 'Just wait till midnight, little
piggies. This big bad wolf is going to blow your house
down.' He slammed his door with a flourish and then,
remembering the Gameboy, opened it again and ran
down the stairs. His birthday present was broken into
five jagged pieces.

Freddy vowed to be the most terrifying wolf in
the history of Wolfenkind. He was going to teach the
Pukesome Twosome a lesson they would never forget.

The Grand Growler is the most important werewolf
in the country and must be descended from a noble
family, for he is the guardian of the werefolk's most
sacred rituals. Wolves are fiercely proud people and
it is the Grand Growler's role to ensure that the High
Howling is a very special and dignified occasion. Every
five years the Fang Council decides who will be elected
for the next term and for the past five hundred years,
a member of the Lupin pack had always entered the
election for Grand Growler. Flasheart Lupin had held
the position and since his death his brother Hotspur
had taken his place.

Being Grand Growler was more important to
Sir Hotspur than anything else in the world. He
was desperate to be re-elected, and so it was hardly
surprising that he didn't trust Freddy not to ruin
everything. He had been in a total frenzy all afternoon,
directing deliveries of meat and red wine, and finding
bedrooms for guests who had arrived too early.
Freddy was so desperate to be re-invited to the party
that he even risked going downstairs to apologise to
Sir Hotspur for the dreadful pond incident. It was
no use. His uncle simply did not trust him to be let
loose among the guests. Instead, Freddy could only
watch them arrive from his window in the tower. Mrs
Mutton, sick of Sir Hotspur's orders, was hiding up
there with him.

'That's Sir Grey Hightail, Leader of the Fang
Council. He's the oldest wolf in the Great Pack and
extremely wise. Even Hotair has to listen to him.'

Mrs Mutton was pointing down from the tower
window at the castle courtyard. The guests were
gathering around the pond, which was full of floating
candles. It was approaching midnight and they had
seen magnificent car after magnificent car draw up
to the gates. The housekeeper knew all the visitors'
names. 'The Snotte-Muzzels, they're Werens. Haven't
had a wolf in the pack for years. They keep hoping that
one of the grand-pups will transform.' Mrs Mutton
shook her head in commiseration.

'Who's that?' laughed Freddy. The shortest, fattest
man he had ever seen rolled into sight.

'Colonel Slimpaw. He's just as fat when he's a wolf,
too.' The old lady sniggered and then looked at Freddy
seriously.

'All these fine werefolk are here to honour you,
pup. It's you who will carry on Sir Rathbone's Fangen
blood in this pack. Just remember, you come from
the most ancient and noble line of wolves in Britain.
Everybody will remember the name of Freddy Lupin,
and his first Transwolfation. Your parents would have
been very proud.'

Freddy's heart swelled. There was nothing he
wanted more than to be a heroic wolf. He gave a
nervous squirm. All afternoon he had endured the
most terrible itching. In the tufts of hair in his palms
it was almost unbearable. The clock said ten minutes
before midnight. At long last it was time!

'Ready?' Mrs Mutton asked. He gave a nervous nod.

Dressed in his best and most uncomfortable
clothes, Freddy set off for the Great Hall with the old
lady. They walked down the spiral staircase from his
tower room and along the narrow stone passage that
came out next to the kitchen.

'Stop wriggling, will you?' Mrs Mutton instructed.

'I can't help it, I'm itchy,' he complained, tugging at
his tight collar. He felt most uneasy and his stomach still
ached with excitement. They walked up the servants'
staircase to the first floor. In less than five minutes he
would be a wolf at last. It was everything he wanted
and yet he felt frightened, too. They walked past the
bedrooms towards the front of the castle. What would
the Transwolfation be like? What if it hurt? If only his
father was there to advise him. But there was no more
time left to worry now. Freddy could hear the noise of
the party below.

They reached the top of the Red Stairs. Below them,
the Great Hall was lit by candlelight and the jewelled
crowd glittered. Freddy stood next to Sir Rathbone's
armour and placed a hand on it for reassurance.
His stomach felt terrible, as if he was going to puke.
Somebody looked up and spotted him. The most
important werefolk in Britain all cheered and, with
a push from the housekeeper, Freddy began to walk
down the Red Stairs into the Great Hall.

Uncle Hotspur glared menacingly at his troublesome
nephew but Freddy, enjoying himself now,
waved at everybody like a pop star.

'Well done, Freddy ...'

'Sharpen those fangs ...'

'Break a paw ...'

'Come on, moonbeam ...' came the calls.

He saw the twins, their pink faces sour with envy.
They had been forced there to see his Great Night
much against their will. He waved at them deliberately,
as if they were his greatest fans. Harriet scowled at
him.

Eventually Freddy worked his way to the front of
the room. Sir Hotspur stood waiting grimly on a small
stage, behind which was a huge curtain. He pointed at
a chair with a fierce scowl.

'I'll have no buffoonery tonight!' he whispered
fiercely in Freddy's ear. 'You, sir, had better change into
the most impressive wolf to walk the earth. The pride
of the Lupin Pack depends on it and Sir Rathbone's
memory demands it.'

And so, of course, did his re-election as Grand
Growler, although he would never tell Freddy that.

'Yes, sir,' Freddy croaked nervously, trying to
look fierce.

As Sir Hotspur stood up and raised his hands, the
crowd fell silent.

'Honoured guests, Werens, Fangen, all! The time
has come. Now is the Grand Growling and High
Howling of the Hidden Moonlight Gathering of
Werefolk. We howl thanks for the ancient magic of the
Moonstone. Now, by the power of the silver moon, let
the Transwolfation begin!'

With that, Sir Hotspur pulled back the curtain to
reveal a tall window. There in the midnight sky shone
a perfect, beautiful full moon. Although Freddy was
standing back from the light, his skin began to itch
even more. All around him Fangen struck by the
moonbeams began transforming into wolves. Large old
greying wolves, young beautiful black wolves, wolves
with sleek brown hair, even pure white wolves. Lady
Whitehorn transformed into a tiny pale wolf with her
diamond tiara still balanced precariously on her head.
It was a terrible and magnificent sight. Howling filled
the air. While still a boy, Freddy couldn't understand
the Wolfen words; they sounded like deadly music.
Only as a wolf would he be able to join in this ancient
language. Eventually all the wolves apart from Sir
Hotspur and his nephew had transformed.

'Now you, Frederick,' Uncle Hotspur ordered.
'And make it good, sir! This is no place for a foolster,'
he added menacingly, his eyes glaring from under his
hairy red eyebrows.

Freddy felt like running away, but he pulled
together his courage and walked towards the patch of
moonlight. The crowd fell silent in anticipation.

'Please don't let it hurt,' Freddy whimpered to himself.

As he stepped into the moonbeams he felt the
most marvellous warmth spread over his body. For a
Fangen, the light of the moon is like the sun's rays on
a beautiful summer day. He began to stretch and it felt
glorious, like picking a scab or scratching an itch. It
was as if he were turning and twisting inside out. He
fell forward onto his hands and knees and a searing
shiver shot through him as he felt new hair growing
through his skin. Freddy had transformed. He put
back his head and howled with joy.

'Yip!'

Freddy opened his eyes in alarm.

The wolves howled in disgust.

The Putrid Pair squealed with delight.

Sir Hotspur roared with rage.

Freddy felt that something was not quite right ...
He ran to the window and looked at his reflection
against the dark night.

'Yip!' he woofed in shock. The reflection staring
back at him was not that of a fearsome, proud wolf.
Instead, he saw a perfectly tiny, utterly un-fierce and
totally ridiculous black poodle.

'I'm a were-poodle!'

Never once in his nightmares had he imagined a
fate as bad as this. Surely life couldn't get any worse?
Oh, poor old Freddy. Life could be, and was about to
become, very much worse.

The room echoed with a tumult of furious howls.

There could be no sight more repulsive to werefolk
than a dog in their midst. Even normal wolves and dogs
distrust each other. Dogs see themselves as civilised and
wolves as wild and dangerous. Since cavemen first threw
sticks, dogs have always sided with men against wolves.
Dogs lived in the humans' caves, then their huts and
then their houses, but wolves were always in the forests.
Then wolves were gradually driven out of the ancient
woods as humans built their towns. They viewed the
dogs that helped men to hunt them down as traitors to
animal-kind.

For werefolk the disgust with dogs goes even
deeper. Added to the distrust any normal wolf feels
is a fear of discovery, since some humans would not
only seek to drive them away, but to destroy them
entirely. Not even human form will fool some dogs
– some can always smell the wolf within. Sir Rathbone
himself had been tracked down and uncovered by a
wolfhound. These traitorous beasts had led soldiers
to the gates of this very house in the Battle of Farfang
Castle.

Worse than all this, for some wolves such as Uncle
Hotspur, is the suggestion that a Fangen may be an
animal.
Werefolk are exceptionally proud people
and cannot bear to look at a dog as it reminds them
that they may not be so very different from beasts.
Whatever the reason, any association with a dog was
a disgrace too terrible to think about.

Freddy turned to look at his uncle in alarm. Sir
Hotspur, now transformed into a huge red wolf,
was approaching, his teeth bared and dripping with
saliva.

'You ridiculous buffoon,' he growled. 'You have
brought shame upon us that we will never live down.
The very blood of Sir Rathbone has been polluted.'

Freddy backed away in alarm. It appeared Uncle
Hotspur wouldn't be eating his trousers after all.

'I'm going to mince you into little poodle pieces.
Then I'll spit them out and grind them into the floor,'
howled his furious slavering uncle. Freddy watched,
frozen with terror, as the monstrous wolf leapt at
him.

Freddy gave a feeble yelp and ran away as fast as
his tiny pretty legs would take him. He crossed the
hall and a sea of disgusted wolves howled at him as
he passed.

'Shame!'

'Disgrace!'

Amid the uproar, Freddy scampered out of the
Great Hall, down the passage and up the spiral stairs
to his room. There he sank down under his bed in
shock, sorrow and confusion. How could this be? How
could he be a dog – the most despicable creature on
earth? The son of Flasheart, a most magnificent wolf,
doomed to be loathed and shunned by all werefolk. It
couldn't have happened; there must be a mistake.

Freddy tiptoed over to the mirror.

'Oh, stinking smelly feet,' he yipped in despair.
There was no doubting his reflection.

He was a poodle.

'Why can't I be normal like any other werewolf?
I'm supposed to be a hero.' Footsteps were approaching
up the spiral stairs. 'Oh, great howls!' Freddy
whimpered, his hair going tight with fear. He scampered
under the bed once more. To his relief, it was
Mrs Mutton who walked in and sat heavily on the
bed. To his further relief, he found that he could still
understand her. The Fangen could always understand
humans when in wolf form, but he hadn't been so
sure about himself as a
dog.

'Well, I've never seen anything like this before,'
she began unhelpfully. 'Your father had pure Wolfen
blood. He was never a poodle, you know, not even
once.'

Freddy sighed. He didn't need to be reminded
what a ridiculous son he was for the famously brave
Flasheart. His father would have been ashamed of
him for sure.

Mrs Mutton suddenly clapped her hands. 'I
remember who you remind me of now. Dripsy-Wimpsy,
of course!'

Freddy had no idea what she was talking about.
He didn't want to know; all he wanted was to wake up
from this nightmare.

'Whenever your mother's aunt came to visit she
brought her dog too. Well, you can imagine how
Hotspur reacted. But Flasheart allowed the ghastly
little traitor to stay here for your mother's sake. It
was the slyest, smelliest, most cowardly poodle in the
world. Always yipping, farting and pooing on your
uncle's lawn. You look exactly like her.'

'Woof!' Freddy objected crossly. He looked nothing
like a girl dog and he wasn't farty! Well, not always.
Except if he ate baked beans, or broccoli, or ...

'Sir Hotspur is very upset,' Mrs Mutton continued.

'Yip,' yelped the poodle, knowing his uncle would
never forgive him. He had no wish to be minced into
tiny poodle pieces, or mashed like a potato.

'If I were a poodle, which thank goodness I'm not,
I'd stay up here till morning,' said the old lady as she
stood and walked towards the stairs. 'Come down
tomorrow when you're a boy again. Everything will
look better soon, you'll see.' As she began to descend
she called back, 'Sir Hotair might even have calmed
down by then.'

Freddy agreed. There was no way he was coming
out looking as he did. Fangen only stay in wolf form
for the first night of the full moon; the next morning
he would transform back into a boy and be safe from
this horror until next month. But rather than looking
better for Freddy, things began to look decidedly
worse just then, as the Pukesome Twosome emerged
from the shadows behind the door. They had been
eavesdropping.

'Woof!' Freddy, forgetting his resolution, shot out
from under the bed to order them from the room.

He was snatched up by Chariot and, despite his
nipping and kicking, was dumped roughly into an old
sack.

'Such a fierce wolf,
not!
More like
Dripsy-Wimpsy,'
Harriet taunted with delight. 'What a sissy.'

Poor old Freddy snapped and yipped with outrage,
but there was no escape. What a terrible ending to
his Great Night. Not only a poodle and a national
disgrace, but trapped by his archenemies.