100% Hero

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Authors: Jayne Lyons

Table of Contents

J
AYNE
L
YONS

100% HERO

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100% Hero

ePub ISBN 9781864715491
Kindle ISBN 9781864716412

A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Random House Australia in 2009

Copyright © Jayne Lyons 2009

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any
person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory
exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or
by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission
of Random House Australia.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at
www.randomhouse.com.au/offices

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Author: Lyons, Jayne
Title: 100 Hero / Jayne Lyons
ISBN: 978 1 74166 396 9 (pbk.)
Target audience: For primary school age
Subjects: Werewolves – Juvenile fiction
Dewey number: A823.4

Cover design by Design Cherry
Cover and internal illustrations by Ari Geller, The People's Republic of Animation,
except 'Key' and 'Lock' illustrations
©iStockphoto.com/claudelle
Internal design by Midland Typesetters
Typeset in 13/17.5pt Berkeley Oldstyle Book by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia

Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable
products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and
manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of
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C
HAPTER
ONE
Second Greatest Hero

Frederick Poncenby Lupin was the Second Greatest
Werewolf Hero
Ever
! He had spent the whole morning
thinking about this as he lay in the garden with his
friend, Batty the dog. It was the first day of the summer
holidays and Freddy planned to think about himself
as often as possible. He thought it was very likely
that in two hundred years werepups would gaze at
pictures of him in admiration. They might sing songs
about his bravery. They would dream that one day
they might even be as great as him, however unlikely
that was. In their games, they would argue over who
got to play Freddy. He pitied the poor kid who would
have to take the part of his defeated enemy, the evil
wolf hunter Dr Foxwell Cripp.

'Because only the coolest kids will get to play
me
,'
he told Batty modestly. She barked and licked his face. 'Lucky them,' Freddy agreed.

He laughed as he remembered his first meeting
with Batty, when the dog had sniffed his backside. He
knew now that, for a dog, this was the very best of
good manners. His smile faded when he remembered
that he had been a dyed-pink poodle at the time,
thanks to a hateful trick. Even Freddy's fantastic
opinion of himself wobbled slightly at that memory. He wasn't totally sure that any boy would want to play
the part of a
pink
hero in their games.

As he walked into the Great Hall of Farfang
Castle, he looked up at the tapestry of Sir Rathbone
De Lupinne, his ancestor, hanging on the wall. Sir
Rathbone, the number one Greatest Werewolf Hero
Ever, sat astride his great black horse, holding his
sword high. Freddy imagined a similar picture of
himself, as a poodle, hanging next to this one. Oh
no, that wouldn't do at all! He decided that this part
of his story did not need to be mentioned. He was
100 per cent wolf and that was all his worshippers
needed to be told. The fact that at
some
full moons
he transformed into a black poodle, and not a wolf,
would have to be a secret. From now on, he was going
to be the proudest, most perfectest wolf that ever lived. And to make sure everybody else thought as well of
him as he did of himself, he devised a cunning plan. He was, after all, the Plan Master.

He would need his family's help. They must begin
by writing down examples of how intelligent, brave,
or just generally brilliant he was. Those would be
the stories that were to be told. He would have
photographs taken of himself on the nights when
he transformed into a noble black wolf. He would
stand on the lawn and howl at the moon heroically.
That
would be the picture of him that would hang
on the castle wall, next to Sir Rathbone's. Freddy
was extremely pleased with his plan. Never again
would he be seen as silly, or pink, or ridiculous in
any way. He ran into the kitchen to tell his father and
Mrs Mutton, the housekeeper, the great news. How
proud of him they were going to be. He found them
sitting at the table.

For years, Freddy had believed that his father,
Flasheart, was dead, until he had discovered him
imprisoned in the dungeons of Coldfax Fort. Sir
Hotspur, Freddy's wicked uncle, had locked Flasheart
there so that he could take his place as Grand Growler,
the most powerful werewolf in Britain. Sir Hotspur
was now in exile in Dundaggard Castle in Scotland. Flasheart, restored to his rightful place, wanted
to catch up with all that he had missed of his son
growing up. To help, Mrs Mutton was showing him
the photographs, drawings, and other papers that she
had saved in a large box.

'And here's one of Freddy, stark naked, peeing on
Hotspur's roses,' she cackled.

'Good way to water the flowers, Pinky!' Flasheart
roared with laughter.

Freddy was aghast! Had he heard correctly? He tore
the picture from the old lady's hand. It showed him
from behind, aged about four, and wearing nothing
except his wellington boots. There was a birthmark
shaped like a five-petalled flower on his left buttock. An arc of pee could be seen landing on the flowers. Freddy had had no idea that these photographs
existed.

'Where did this come from?' he bellowed in outrage.

'Oh, I took it when you weren't looking,' Mrs
Mutton said, smiling.

'You shouldn't be spying on people's . . .
private
business
!'

'You were in the middle of the garden, it was hardly
private.'

'Still, it's not . . .
dignified
, is it?' Freddy could just
imagine what impression this would make when
discovered by his fans.

'You never kept your clothes on at that age,' she
added.

Freddy was appalled at the news.

'Don't worry about that, Pinky, this one's
much
worse,' Flasheart said, picking up another photo. It
showed Freddy in one of Mrs Mutton's old dresses. He also wore her high-heeled shoes and lipstick, and
was picking his nose.

'It wasn't me!' Freddy roared, not seeing the funny
side at all. 'Harriet tricked me.'

Harriet was his hateful cousin, now sent to a hateful
school.

'Look at
this
one.' The old lady held up another
photo.

It was of Freddy in a school play. He was dressed as
a carrot, and the photo had been taken just at the
moment he'd fallen off the stage and into the headmistress's
lap, a look of amazement on his orange face.

'Ouch.' Flasheart laughed and ruffled his son's
sticky-up black hair. 'Sorry I missed that play, it looks
like a hoot.'

'Oh yeah, how funny – not! I've got a scar from
that, in case anyone cares.' Freddy held out his elbow
to show the invisible scar.

'And here's his first love letter,' Mrs Mutton said
evilly, holding up a piece of paper covered in crayon.

'No! What? No way!' Freddy yelled.

' "Dere Daisee . . ." ' She began to read Freddy's
early attempts at writing.

He tried to grab the paper from her, but she
jumped out of his way. The only Daisy he knew was a
girl in his class. She thought he was stupid and so he
couldn't stand her. It appeared, however, that this had
not always been the case.

' "Dere Daisee," ' Mrs Mutton continued mercilessly.
' "I luv yu and fink yur dress is nise. It is eggsacerly
the same colur as snot. I like yur gums two. Will you
marrie me? Luv Freddy." '

'Excellent! I see you have your father's smooth
tongue. So why didn't you send it, Pinky?' Flasheart
asked with a wink.

'Because I hate girls!' the poor boy protested. His face went bright red with fury and shame as the
grown-ups laughed once more. This was no way for
the Second Greatest Werewolf Hero
Ever
to be treated. Batty barked in agreement.

'Oh, that one should be framed!' Flasheart said. He was very pleased to have all these memories of his
son.

'You're not keeping it all?' Freddy was horrified.

'Of course, what else shall we do?' Mrs Mutton
asked, putting the precious items back into the box.

'Chuck them away, burn them, bury them, before
anyone else sees.' He tried to grab the box, but the
housekeeper whipped it away. 'Only stories of my
being . . . fantabulous are allowed now!'

'But don't you want your fans to see the
real
you?'

Flasheart smiled mischievously.

'Of course not! I mean, der! Do I want the whole
world to see my . . . my
Blavendoch
?' This was the
name of a flower that looked exactly like the birthmark
on his bum. Freddy scowled, waving the photo in his
hand. This only made them laugh more. He sighed in
frustration.

How was he
ever
to appear dignified and noble
with such an embarrassing family? Songs had to be
written about him, and he didn't want them to be
about him peeing on the roses.

Before he could complain any more, the front
doorbell rang. Flasheart looked at his watch in
surprise. 'It must be Puceley. He's early.'

'Who?' Freddy asked, his grumpiness forgotten at
the sudden news of visitors.

'Chester Puceley, my distant cousin. He went to
school with Hotbot and I, but then he married the
Archduchess of Boldovia . . . rather him than me. They've been living in Europe for years. Chester rang
last night to say they would be passing through.'

'Ah, Mr Puceley!' Mrs Mutton cried. 'Such a wellmannered,
charming man. You pups had better watch
your manners,' she warned. Freddy didn't like the
sound of this.

'Well, he's a bit too . . .
neat
for my liking.' Flasheart
shrugged. 'But you know the Pact of the Fangen: our
house is always open to werefolk. He's brought his
daughter Priscilla – I hear she has very nice gums.'

Flasheart laughed as he went to answer the door.

Freddy snorted, and turned in time to see Mrs
Mutton locking the box into a cupboard.

His eyes narrowed. He would outwit her yet. He was
determined to destroy all the evidence in that box before
anybody else ever saw it. He was going to be known as a
brave and fearsome wolf – and not a carrot!

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