100% Hero (10 page)

'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!'

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?

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.

'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?'