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  '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.'

  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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The High Howling

  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 rol
e 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.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dripsy-Wimpsy

  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 a
s 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.