100% Wolf (2 page)

Now and then, right through history, werefolk have
married humans. As a result, some children – called
the Fangen – will transform into wolves, but others are
almost human and will not. They are called Werens.
There were four Fangen in Freddy's werepack: Freddy,
his father, Uncle Hotspur and Aunt Helda (who
had heard the Final Howl years before). Harriet and
Chariot were Werens and could never transform.
Their palms were perfectly pink and smooth.

There are no rules about who will or won't become
wolves. Freddy's mother had been completely human
and yet Freddy would experience the Transwolfation.
Both the twins' parents had been wolves and yet their
pups were nearly human. It just happens that way, but
Sir Hotspur saw it as a personal humiliation. The fact
that it was Freddy inheriting the Fangen blood was an
even greater insult.

'It's an outrage!' Sir Hotspur had roared only
yesterday, glaring at Freddy, who had just walked dog
dirt over every carpet in the castle. (And above all else
a werewolf despises a dog.) Freddy had been playing
with a stray dog that had somehow found a way into
the grounds. This was very unusual, for normally
dogs avoided Farfang Castle in terror. He had fed
the animal, but didn't notice that he'd stepped in the
stray's
number twos.
He was standing in front of his
outraged uncle with the poo still on his shoe before
he realised.

'But it was hungry ...' Freddy tried to explain. The
poor animal had fled at the smell of his furious uncle.

'It is a
dog,
sir! A dog! Not fit to be in our presence
and yet you ...' Hotspur came to a stop. There were
no words for his disgust.

'I don't see what's so wrong with dogs. After all,
we're
wolves,
it's not so different ...'

'A wolf is a
noble
being, sir!' Uncle Hotspur's face
was sweating with fury. 'We are not animals! I will
not have an animal in my castle, sir! Never! Why
should
you
transform? You are a foolster!' Sir Hotspur
shuddered with disgust. He hated the fact that it was
Freddy who carried the wolf blood of Sir Rathbone in
his veins and not his own pups. Freddy, as usual, had
been banished to his room.

That was yesterday, and now – on his birthday –
Freddy was banished to his room at the top of the
tower yet
again.
And he was bored.

'Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!' he
bellowed down the spiral stairs.
'Bored!'
he added,
throwing himself onto his bed.

His TV and computer had been confiscated the
week before, as punishment for dropping a water-filled
balloon onto his uncle's head. (He had been aiming for
Harriet, but she had outwitted him as usual.) He had
tried to read, but it was no use – he was far too excited
about the High Howling and his Transwolfation. In
the end he had no other option. It was time to ride
the Slide of Doom.

He dragged a huge metal tray from behind his
cupboard. It was big enough for a grown man to sit on.
In fact, one of Freddy's best memories of his father was
of them sitting on the tray together. Flasheart Lupin had
invented the Slide of Doom when he was a boy. Freddy
dragged the tray to the doorway, placed it on the floor
and sat on it. Below him the long steep spiral staircase
went all the way down to the ground floor. The ride
ended by racing down the passage next to the kitchen
and through a doorway into the central courtyard.

Freddy sat on the tray, daring himself to push
off. He had been absolutely, permanently and totally
banned from the Slide of Doom by Sir Hotspur. It
was too
undignified
for a wolf, especially a Lupin. But
Uncle Hotspur simply didn't know how to have fun.
And anyway ... he would never know, would he?

'Doom to boring Uncle Hotair!' Freddy pushed off
with a cry of delight.

He held tightly onto the tray's handles as the
metal sheet shot down over the ancient stone steps.
His straight black hair stood on end with the speed
of the ride and his grin was enormous. Not even his
sticky-out ears could slow him down. The spirals
were so tight that Freddy went round and round like
bathwater shooting down a plughole.

'Yoo-woo!' he howled. 'Fantabulous.'

Then, as usual, everything went wrong.

Freddy shot out of the bottom of the staircase
straight towards Sir Hotspur and Lord and Lady
Whitehorn, who were being given a grand tour of
the castle.

'Look out!' yelled Freddy.

'Let me save you, Lady Whitehorn,' cried Sir
Hotspur, picking up the tiny lady chivalrously.

Too late!

Freddy whacked into his uncle for the second time
that day. Sir Hotspur fell back onto the tray, knocking
Freddy off and letting out a great 'Gr-oomf!' as Lady
Whitehorn landed on his lap. The pair flew down
the corridor towards the courtyard, looking rather
surprised.

A little scream came from Lady Whitehorn as they
shot out of the open door and came to rest in the
ornamental pond with a small splash. A stone fountain
shaped like a boy peed water onto Sir Hotspur's furious
red face. Lady Whitehorn threw a goldfish off her lap
with a growl.

'I had no wish for a swim, Lupin!'

'Whoops ...' Freddy croaked. Nobody could be
in more trouble than him at that precise moment.
'Well, actually, you're supposed to steer left at the last
minute,' he instructed helpfully, 'or else you end up in
the pond.'

'I'm going to mash you, sir. Mashed like a potato,
boiled and peeled. I'll serve you up for dog food.
I'll ... I'll ...' Sir Hotspur stood in the pond, pointing
a finger at his nephew and looking more than half
wolf already. Freddy didn't wait for his uncle's potato
threats to be carried out. He sprinted back up to his
tower room as fast as he could and dived under
his bed in a rather unheroic manner.

Freddy soon heard angry footsteps climbing the
stairs. 'Great howls,' he croaked. What would his
uncle do now?

'Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young man?'

Freddy sighed with relief when he heard it was
only Mrs Mutton the housekeeper. She was a Weren
and had looked after him since he could remember.
She had adored Flasheart, had a very big soft spot for
Freddy, and no time at all for Sir Hotspur, who was
actually a little afraid of the fat old lady. She could
always be relied on to stick up for Freddy against
his horrid uncle. This time, however, Freddy did not
come out from under the bed.

'Old Hotair says you must stay in your room until
midnight,' Mrs Mutton informed the dark space under
the bed.

'But that's not fair, I'll miss my party.
Ouch!'
Freddy
hit his head on the bed as he jumped with fury.

'Freddy Lupin! The most important werefolk in
Britain will be there. You can't be trusted to behave
yourself,' she said crossly.

'Well, actually, I can. Can, can, can, can!' he grumbled.
'I always behave myself.
Actually.'

Mrs Mutton snorted an incredulous laugh.
'Remember, young pup, it's not just
your
party tonight.
The Fang Council will also be discussing next month's
re-election of the Grand Growler. Hotspur's sure to win
again, but he won't trust you not to ruin everything.'

'Humph,' replied Freddy. 'It's not my fault he can't
steer. Dad could do it.'

'I bet Lady Whitehorn is already too cross to vote
for him,' the old lady smiled.

Freddy laughed.

'What would your father say about tipping your
uncle into the pond?' the housekeeper demanded,
peering under the bed.

'Good shot!' Freddy answered cheekily.

Mrs Mutton looked at the ceiling in despair.

'It's your first Transwolfation tonight, Freddy,'
she continued seriously. 'It's time to stop behaving
like a foolish pup and think about what you owe to
your family. To the memory of your father, and to Sir
Rathbone.'

Freddy went silent as his stomach started to churn
with nerves.

'It's time to grow up, pup, and think of others
besides yourself! As much as I hate to admit it, Sir
Hotair does a great job as Grand Growler. You must
behave yourself tonight.'

Freddy closed his eyes. He was half ecstatic about
the night to come and half terrified.

'Well, Freddy,' Mrs Mutton sighed when he didn't
answer. 'Happy birthday. If you won't come out, I'll
send your present in.' With that she slid a nicely
wrapped present under the bed and her footsteps
disappeared downstairs again.

Freddy unwrapped it eagerly.

'A Gameboy! Fantabulous!' It was exactly what he
had wanted. Mrs Mutton was the best ever.

Freddy squirmed out from under his bed to
thank the old lady and flung open his bedroom door.
Suddenly he was flying, but not in a good way.

'Arrggh!' he cried, as he sprawled through the air
and fell down the top few steps. The Gameboy fell
from his grasp and clattered down and down the
spiral stairs. He looked back in fury to see Harriet and
Chariot smiling at him evilly.

'Enjoy your trip, Fred-er-rick-smell-of-sick?' sang
the twins happily.

'You could have killed me!' Freddy yelled in outrage.

'As if we'd be so lucky,' Harriet snorted. 'You're in
trouble now, dunderbrain.'

'Who asked
you,
piggy?'

Harriet ignored him and breezed into his room.

'Hey, stay out!' Freddy cried, struggling to rise as
Chariot followed his sister.

Both the twins had tiny blue eyes and red hair,
like their father. They were pink and plump like two
piglets, a fact that Freddy was always cruelly happy
to point out. They never ran, shouted, skidded or
spat, never farted at the dinner table or spoke with
their mouths full, never wiped snot on their sleeves,
flew down the banister into Sir Hotspur's stomach, or
threw Lady Whitehorn into the pond. In fact, they
never did any of the things Freddy did that drove his
uncle wild.

'You put that down! That's private property,' Freddy
cried in fury as Harriet picked up the photograph
of his father. It was usually hidden when they were
around.

The twins' eyes flashed wide with delight as they
looked at each other. They had discovered a new
torture for their cousin.

Freddy tried to grab the photograph from Harriet
but she jumped onto the bed and dangled it out of
reach. Just as he almost caught her, Chariot took the
photograph and stuck his hand out of the window.

'Does Freddy-Sicky want his daddy?' he taunted.
'Will he cry-ee?'

'Give it back, fart-breath, or you'll be sorry!'
Freddy demanded furiously as he made a lunge for
the photograph.

'Bye-bye, daddy ...' Chariot said, as he let the
photograph fall. The twins babbled with laughter as it
caught on the wind and flew away.

'That was a' – Freddy couldn't think of a word bad
enough – 'despicagusting thing to do.'