100% Hero (11 page)

Batty withdrew her muzzle from the gap under the
hut's door. She was right not to have trusted Chester
Puceley, for here he was with Freddy's hateful uncle,
the very man who had betrayed his own family.
They were up to something, and she had a deep sense
that Freddy was in danger. She had to warn him, but
how? She lay on the ground in the shadow of the hut
for some minutes, unsure of what to do. Then her ears
jumped high as the idea pinged into her head.

She ran back to the castle, through the back door
and up the spiral stairs to Freddy's tower room. She
pulled the long sausage bag from under his bed –
the label was still on the handle. She gave a howl of
delight at her plan.

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.'

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 laughing!' 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.