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'Youch.'

  'Prissy poodle, sissy poodle,' Daryl Spanner called as his mother dragged them away down the street. She had forgotten all about her visit to the butcher's shop. The family disappeared and the shop door remained firmly shut.

  'It didn't hurt me!' Freddy lied, woofing after the mother. 'So there!' He thought for a second. 'With knobs on.'

  They won't say I'm sweet again, he thought, very pleased with himself. He imagined Sir Rathbone would have behaved in a similar way. He felt his father would have been proud of him. For the first time since his Transwolfation, Freddy felt he had lived up to the reputation of a werewolf at last.

  He turned to face Batty, who snarled at him in total disgust.

  'What?' Freddy woofed. It suddenly occurred to him that Operation Sausages had not gone to plan.

  'It wasn't me!' he said. Batty was not impressed. He tried to look innocent. Batty was still not impressed. He tried to look tough. Batty snorted.

  'You silly pink stink-pup,' she growled. 'All you had to do was make the puppies like you. They always like me.'

  'They said I was a girl and Spanner said I looked like fairy floss,' he yipped in outrage.

  'Who? And what's fairy floss?' Batty asked.

  'It's fluffy and pink and it looks like ... me.' Freddy sulked. That made Batty laugh – she was never able to stay angry for long.

  'But how do you know what they was saying?' she asked, returning to her lookout spot behind the tree.

  'Oh derrr! I am English, aren't I?' he scoffed, following her.

  'No. I thought you was Australian.' She looked at him closely.

  'Same thing, mate,' he replied nervously. The trouble with telling lies is it's so difficult to remember them all the time.

  Batty was looking at him in a very strange way. Then something occurred to Freddy.

  'Don't you understand what humans say?'

  'Of course not!' yelped Batty. 'No dog can.'

  'Well, I can,' Freddy barked pompously, showing off again. 'Perhaps because I am no mere poodle. Perhaps because I really am a wolf.'

  'Since when could wolves understand humans, either? Even pink ones,' Batty laughed. However, she looked at Freddy with new respect. He may be stupid, pink, smelly, spoilt and convinced he was a wolf, but being able to understand humans was a very great skill.

  'Woof-tastic!' she smiled, bashing Freddy with her paw. He felt very proud to have impressed so clever a dog.

  'Don't you know any words?' he asked her.

  Batty had to think hard. It was so long since she had a human to look after her and talk to her that she couldn't really remember.

  'I know my name, "Batty",' she said at last. 'And "walkies" and "dinner". And one other horrible word ... "Coldfax",' she whispered with a shudder. 'It's a word every dog knows and fears.'

  'Coldfax? What's that?' Freddy asked.

  'It's a terrible place, over the dark hill. It's where they take dogs from the Wildside when they get caught. No free dog knows what it's like inside Coldfax, 'cos no dog ever comes back out. There's no escape. At night, you can hear the dogs howling, but you don't never see them.' Batty shook herself and they were quiet for a while.

  'I'm sorry I ruined everything. I always do, although I never mean to,' Freddy said mournfully, looking over at the butcher's shop. Batty looked at the pongy poodle with pity.

  'Oh well, pick your ears up, Stinky,' she urged, pushing him with her paw. 'Operation Sausages isn't over yet. Look.' There was a man walking towards the shop.

  'You stay here, Freddy. Plan B is too dangerous for you.'

  Freddy didn't like to appear cowardly, but he had already made a mess of things once. Batty would probably be safer without him. He watched her go with a nervous wag of his tail.

  'Be careful,' he yipped. 'I'll come if you need me!'

  Freddy watched as his brave friend walked close behind the man. He heard a little bell tinkle as the man entered the shop, completely unaware that Batty was following him. Freddy's heart was beating fast as the man turned to close the door.

  That's when Freddy saw his face. He had thin white cheeks and huge staring eyes behind thick round spectacles. It was a face that every werepup had been taught to fear. Freddy gasped in terror. There stood Dr Foxwell Cripp, werewolf hunter and the man who had shot his father with a silver bullet.

  And Batty was trapped inside the shop with him!

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dr Foxwell Cripp

  Dr Foxwell Cripp had only one mission in life and that was to destroy all werewolves. When he was a young boy he had once spied over a neighbour's fence and seen what so few people have: the Transwolfation of a man into a wolf. He had hidden in fright as the wolf – Mr Patterfall, a gentle, kindly old man – paced slowly around his garden in the moonlight. Cripp had seen no terrible violence, no attacks made by the wolf, but that one vision had been enough to spark his curiosity ... and his loathing. The old man died soon after, before young Foxwell could work up the courage to confront him about his secret. Instead he watched horror films, read ghost stories and believed all the tales about werewolves' savagery without question. Everything he saw convinced him more that werewolves were terrible and fearsome creatures. He was certain that only he, who knew that they truly existed, could save the world from their evil.

  He had spent his life piecing together little bits of stories and scraps of evidence. He did hours of research in libraries. He tracked down rumours of strange magical happenings behind high walls and in ancient forests. His most valuable piece of evidence, which he found in the dusty attic of a half-ruined castle, was a confession. It had been extracted three hundred years earlier from a man arrested for theft. In an effort to save his own life, he had promised to tell the 'greatest secret known to man' and so he had betrayed the werefolk. He had told of the Grand Growling, the High Howling, of the Hidden Moonlight Gathering, of the Fangen and the Weren. He had told of the Red Book of Wolfen Names, which was always entrusted to the Grand Growler. This book contains the names of all the werefolk in Britain. Worse than all this, the man had revealed the power of the Moonstone and how it might be harnessed to find the wolves. He had been judged insane, and left to die in the dungeons. His confession had lain forgotten until Dr Cripp found it and realised that he now had the key to completing his mission. He must find the Grand Growler.

  The Hidden Moonlight Gathering of Werefolk was held only twice a year. It was far too dangerous for the werefolk to meet more often. The gatherings were held at Farfang Castle or else at the home of another member of the Fang Council. But it is not easy to hide the evidence of a Blood-Red Hunt. And slowly, over many years, Dr Cripp pieced together his evidence. Farmers sometimes told tales of livestock going missing. Mysterious beasts were often spotted against the moonlight. Strange growling and howling was heard on the night air. These occurrences were often reported in the newspapers as 'big cats' escaped from zoos, but Cripp knew better. He made it his business to find out about all such rumours and he very carefully marked an 'X' on his map when he did.

  The Lupin family had been very careful that no such rumours should ever exist in Milford. It was the one area on Cripp's map of Britain that had no 'X' anywhere nearby. For twenty years, despite all his efforts, he never did find another wolf, for the werefolk knew about him. They too watched and had their spies. And they had always outwitted him ... until one infamous night some six years earlier.

  Cripp would never have thought of going near Milford until he had received a note written in blood.

  You will find the Black Wolf of Milford in the stone circle, on the full moon.

  At last! He would finally have proof that there were more wolves – that his neighbour had not been the only one. Milford was famous for its ancient stone circle. It lay in a clearing in the woods nearly two miles from Farfang. There, Cripp had waited and the wolf had come – running out of the dark forest into the moonlight. That wolf had been Flasheart Lupin. Cripp had shot the wolf and believed that, thanks to him, one town
at least had been freed from the terror of the beast.

  But now all his trails had run dry. He had not discovered the Grand Growler, and his map had been no help to him. So after many years he had returned at last to Milford – the only town in which he knew for certain a wolf had once lived. Perhaps there were more? Little did he know that a wolf was standing and watching him there and then, in the main street.

  Freddy jumped back behind the tree. If Dr Cripp saw him he would shoot him with a silver bullet for sure. His skinny pink legs shivered with fright.

  'Why is he in Milford?' Freddy whimpered. 'I must warn Uncle Hotspur.'

  A terrible thought occurred to him. What if Dr Cripp had been to Farfang Castle already? Did he know the Lupin family's secret? It didn't matter how much Freddy disliked his uncle, he would have to warn him. As Grand Growler, Uncle Hotspur was guardian of the Wolfen Names. If Dr Cripp found those, no Weren or Fangen would be safe again. And what about poor Batty?

  He could see the ghastly figure of Dr Cripp, but there was no sign of the mongrel. Shivers of fear went down his spine. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window's reflection and almost laughed. As if anyone would suspect him of being a werewolf. His disguise was perfect. He crept nearer until he could peek through the glass door. There was Batty lying quietly on the floor behind the dreaded man.

  Freddy watched them carefully. He was determined to come to the rescue if he was needed, Dr Cripp or no Dr Cripp.

  Inside the shop, the butcher was carefully weighing out some pork chops.

  'Will they do, sir?' he called over his shoulder.

  'Fine, thank you,' Dr Cripp replied. Batty lay silently behind him, trying to appear invisible. Neither of the men had noticed her. The butcher began to wrap up the chops and Dr Cripp cleared his throat.

  'I wonder,' he began with a small cough. The butcher waited expectantly.

  'I wonder if you ever have large orders for red meat on a night with a full moon?'

  'A full moon?' repeated the butcher, perplexed.

  'Yes indeed,' Dr Cripp went on. 'Last night, for instance, was a full moon. I wonder whether there was a feast held anywhere in Milford. I hear rumours that there was. A High Howling of werefo-' He paused, licked his lips and began again. 'A feast for people who like to eat red meat. Meat dripping, quite dripping, with blood!'

  Dr Cripp gave the butcher what he imagined to be a charming smile.

  'I haven't heard of no feast in Milford,' the butcher said sternly.

  'Are you quite sure? No extra orders for kidneys, or steaks, or tender baby lamb?' the doctor hinted.

  'Well, now that I think of it,' said the butcher, 'the Mayor had a little party for his nephew up at the Castle last night, but I wouldn't call that a feast.'

  'What's that?' Dr Cripp's eyes lit up eagerly.

  'Well, it was young Freddy's tenth birthday. Funny, though, the party was a month late. My Susan has the same birthday and she was ten last month.'

  'Why, that makes him 121 months old! On the night of the full moon!' squealed the doctor in delight. 'Of course! How marvellous. It must be the High Howling.'

  The butcher narrowed his eyes.

  'High What-do-yer-say? It was a birthday party, I've told you,' he scowled.

  Dr Cripp ignored him. 'With lots of meat, though. You did say that, didn't you?' he asked eagerly, his glasses steaming up.

  'Well, I suppose you could say so. Two hundred steaks and five dozen lambs' hearts,' the butcher admitted reluctantly.

  'Oh sweet words, it must be true. Who else but the werefolk need so much blood-red meat?' he whispered to himself.

  'What's that you say?' the butcher demanded suspiciously.

  'Oh nothing, nothing.' The doctor tried to remain calm. 'How much for my chops?' He paid, then put his hand on the door handle. He paused very casually to ask one more question.

  Batty was now alert. She watched his hand as it started to slowly turn the handle. It was her plan to grab the sausages as he opened the door, then flee at top speed.

  'And what was the name of the castle where the party was held?' He smiled repulsively.

  'Farfang, of course, where Mayor Lupin lives. Everybody knows that.' The butcher had had enough of his strange customer.

  Batty watched as Dr Cripp began to open the door. Suddenly, he laughed out loud and let go of the handle.

  'Lupin, lupine, of course! Don't you see? It means "like a wolf". I've found him, I've found the Grand Growler!' He cackled madly, then screamed in surprise as a wild beast appeared to jump for his throat.

  It was Batty, flying past him. She had already begun to jump when he had let go of the handle and she now found herself stranded in the middle of the window display. She grabbed some sausages and turned to face the butcher. She was trapped with no hope of escape.

  'Is that your dog?' the red-faced butcher bellowed at Dr Cripp.

  'Certainly not! I cannot stand the smelly beasts,' Dr Cripp replied.

  The butcher glared at Batty. 'This is the last time you steal from my shop, you miserable hairy hound.' He turned round and reached for his huge meat cleaver.

  Ding-dong!

  The bell rang as the shop door opened. There on the outside handle hung Freddy, pulling down for all he was worth with both tiny paws. With his whole weight he had just managed to swing the door open.

  'Not another one!' roared the butcher, racing around the counter with his sharp cleaver.

  'Run, Freddy,' Batty called and leapt towards the door. As Dr Cripp tried to close it with his foot, Freddy fought to keep it open.

  'Stop those dogs,' ordered the butcher.

  'With pleasure,' laughed Dr Cripp. Suddenly, he took a tiny silver gun from his pocket. He aimed it carefully at Batty as she tried to pull the door wide, but Freddy was too quick for him.

  'Youch,' cried the cowardly hunter, as the poodle's sharp little teeth sank into his ankle. Cripp dropped his gun and cradled his leg.

  The dogs ran for their lives down the main street, the string of sausages sailing behind them like the tail of a kite.

  'Miserable mongrels,' the furious butcher yelled after them. 'You were no use either, you great cream cake,' he informed Dr Cripp.

  'I am maimed ...' the doctor began, but his words died as he stared intently at a ring on his finger. It was silver with a tiny white stone set in the centre – a Moonstone. This was Dr Cripp's great weapon in the hunt for werefolk, and the stone was now hot, so hot that it was burning his finger. It could mean only one thing: a werewolf was close by.

  'But it cannot be,' the doctor said to himself. 'They were only dogs. No werewolf can go abroad unless the full moon is in the night sky.'

  He looked down at his ring once more. He remembered the glorious night when he had fought the Black Wolf of Milford. The stone had burnt his hand that night. One of those dogs must be a werewolf.

  'I wonder?' Dr Cripp said, his eyes narrowing. He stood up and with a somewhat unsteady step began to follow in the direction of the two dogs, a crazed gleam in his eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Captured Again

  'I can't do it,' Freddy called back into the shed.

  'You have to balance on three legs,' Batty told him in amazement. How could a dog be so pampered he doesn't know how to have a wee?

  'Oh, I get it now.' Freddy laughed with relief – he had been holding it in for hours. When he had finished he returned to the shed.

  Full after their meal of stolen sausages, the two dogs curled up against each other and slept for a while. Freddy drifted into an uneasy dream, where he was running back to Farfang, chased by Dr Cripp. But when he arrived, it was too late to save the werefolk from the dreaded man. He jumped awake with a start. Batty raised a sleepy ear off her eye to look at him.

  'What's the matter, Stinky?' she said sleepily.

  'I have to go home to Farfang Castle right now!' he told her urgently. 'I've already wasted too much time.'

  'Is that in Australia?' Batty yawned kindly. She
felt sorry for Freddy being so far from home.

  'Grr ...' Freddy rumbled uncertainly, not sure what to say. He had almost forgotten his elaborate lies from earlier. In fact he couldn't remember exactly what he had said to Batty.

  'How will you get there?' Batty continued. 'Is it far to the other side of the world?'

  'Grr ...' Freddy replied again, at a loss for a good story. 'Yes ... Farfang Castle is in the woods on the other side of the river,' he said at last. He was hoping that Batty's doggy brain wouldn't work out that he had fibbed.

  'What does castle mean?' Batty growled, her eyes narrowing.

  'It's a huge house built of stone, with towers and a big gate,' Freddy snorted. 'Fancy not knowing that.' He was a rather foolish pink dog to try to make fun of her just then. Batty, however, wasn't foolish in the least and she didn't like being lied to.

  'I know the place you mean. It's the House of Howls, where the Red Wolf lives,' she snarled suspiciously, standing up.

  'How do you know about the wolf?' Freddy gasped with horror. It was supposed to be a secret. If everybody in Milford knew, they would never be safe again.

  'Every dog around here knows about him. None of us can stand wolves – horrible, vicious animals. You said you was from Australia. The House of Howls is on the other side of Milford, not the other side of the world.' Batty was really angry now and Freddy began to feel nervous.

  'No dog would never go near the House of Howls,' she continued. 'The Red Wolf don't even sound like a normal animal, more like some sort of... I don't even know what. It's a terrifying place.'

  'Well, yes, Uncle Hotspur can be quite scary,' Freddy admitted, then grimaced at his own stupidity.

  'Uncle?' snarled Batty. 'The Red Wolf is your uncle? How is that possible?'

  'Grr ...?' he answered.

  'What about Australia then?' she snarled louder.

  'Grr ... mmmhmnn?' Freddy's mind was a blank.

  'You've been telling me lies all the time,' she growled at last.

  'It wasn't me!' Freddy yipped idiotically, backing towards the door.