

Tyger Pants

is

Victor the Victor

in

Cretin the Cruel

and the Invasion

of the Werebeast Army

Royston Wood

Published by Royston Wood at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Royston Wood

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter One

## Take Your Kids to Work Day

This is about as much fun as lumpy porridge on a rainy Monday morning. Without any sugar. I'd be better off at school. Even assembly is more interesting than this!

Picking up another book from the endless pile tumbled on the desk I fumble the cover open.

Of course I should be happy I'm not at school, simply because, well, I'm not at school. But National Take Your Kids to Work Day isn't proving to be any better.

Snatching a label from the stack before me I smear glue across its back.

It's alright for Ronan, his dad's a Fire-fighter. I bet he's racing around in a fire engine with the siren blaring, rushing to deal with some blazing inferno. And George's mum is a Policewoman so he's probably out on the street busting some crook's butt, whatever that means.

I slap the glued label down on the blank first page of the book with a lot more force than it needs.

Even stinky Graham's better off than me. OK, so being an Undertaker for a day is a bit creepy but it's also pretty cool; you get to wear black and see dead bodies and stuff.

Lifting my hand I glare at the label. 'This book belongs to the Library Service – see Terms and Conditions of borrowing.'

But my dad is a librarian. So, I'm locked in the library sticking labels in books.

DULL!

The door to dad's office creaks open and my head darts up, looking for some interesting distraction, but it's just dad.

"How's it going Tyger?" he asks, trying to manoeuvre past the huge piles of books looming on every flat surface, with a tray of steaming mugs in his hand.

"Mmmurgh," I respond craning my neck to see if there are any biscuits on the tray.

"What about you Sandy," he asks my little sister, who is sat opposite me on the other side of dad's desk.

"It's fun," chirps Sandy, still happily sticking labels in. "I can see why you like working here."

Creep!

"It is fun Sandy. And there are loads of other interesting things to do today. I'm sure you'll find them all fascinating. You too Tyger."

"Will they all be as exciting as this?" I ask with a slight smirk on my face.

"Unfortunately not, Tyger. It wouldn't be fair to give you and Sandy _all_ the best jobs. We'll have to share some of them with Mr Borling and Miss Doll."

That's the people dad works with. Huh, more like Mr Boring and Miss Dull. They're about as interesting as a damp rag.

'Here, have some tea," says dad plonking mugs down before us, "it will help the day along."

I look forlornly at the empty tray, pouting slightly at the lack of biscuits.

"Is it lunchtime yet?" I ask.

"Lunchtime?" dad chuckles. "We've only been here ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? Is that all?" I grumble. "How long do we have to be here?"

"Well it's ten past nine now and we go home at five. So that's just another...seven hours and fifty minutes."

The time lands on my shoulders like a heavy weight and my head slumps to the desktop.

"Cheer up Tyger. If you're not keen on the label sticking maybe you'll find some of the other things I have planned entertaining."

When I groan in response he frowns at me and snaps, "Well you might! Take a leaf out of Sandy's book and show a bit of enthusiasm. Who knows, by the end of the day you might even want to be a librarian."

"Yes dad," I say, wondering if by the end of the day I might have also grown a beard, it seems as likely.

There's a bleep from dad's pocket and he pulls out his iRate4 phone. This is a curious thing about dad: he's everything you would expect from a librarian, a bit of a dweeby geek with shabby clothes and stuff, but he has the most awesome phone ever. I don't know where he got it. Even the most trendy people only have iRate3s. I've looked on the internet for an iRate4 and they're not even due to be released until next year.

"Sorry guys," says dad looking a bit flustered. "I've got to go to an emergency meeting. It's too important for me to take you two along. We've got a build up of...er...we've got a build up of...of oversized books, that's it. They're the ones that are too big for the normal shelves. We've got to put them on larger shelves and then re–index everything."

"Gosh! That sounds exciting," Sandy and I say at the same time. My voice sounds very sarcastic though.

"Yes. Never a dull moment! Right, just carry on with the labels until I get back," says dad over his shoulder as he hurries from the room.

I plod on with the labels: there's no point rushing, Sandy's flying through them.

As I slap down another label, the 'Terry Pants' brass name plate on dad's desk jumps and my heart leaps with it as I glimpse the iRate4 lying behind it. Dad must have put it down and forgotten it!

Keeping an eye on Sandy, I pluck a book from the pile and, using it to cover my actions, I glide my hand across the desktop, lift the phone and slide it under the desk. Then I carefully arrange a pile of books between us and poke at the phone's screen to wake it up.

It takes me a while to get used to how the controls work but then I start flicking through the screens looking for the games. You can get some awesome games for the iRate3 (or so I'm told) so the ones on the iRate4 must be awefull (that's not a spelling mistake by the way: if a thing that fills you with _some_ awe, or wonder, is awe _some_ then a thing that fills you _full_ of awe must be awe _full_ , right?).

Scrolling through screen after screen with no games or videos or even cool tunes to be seen, I get more and more desperate. I look up to make sure Sandy's still busy. Whoa! What's happening to my wall of books? Sandy's sticking like a demented toddler! If I don't find something soon my shield will be gone and she'll bust me for sure.

I'm about to give up when I spot something called Secret Stuff (actually it's called Private but it means the same thing). This is it! This is where all the cool stuff is going to be.

I click on the folder and the phone suddenly shouts out, "Welcome to Library Service Mission Control. Touch screen to enter messaging system."

I scramble around trying to find a volume control but it's too late.

"What have you got there?" demands Sandy.

"Nothing!" I shove the iRate4 onto my knee and wedge it against the bottom of the desktop.

"Yes you have. Under the desk."

I reach for a label and my glue stick, "No I haven't! I'm just sticking labels in these lovely books." I glare at her trying to make her disappear.

It doesn't work.

"You have one new message. To hear message, touch screen," says the slightly muffled voice of the iRate4 from under the desk. Rats! When I pushed the phone against the bottom of the desk I must have touched the screen.

"What have you got?" demands Sandy leaning down and peering under the desk.

Dropping the label and the glue stick onto the desk I whip the phone off my knee and hide it behind my back.

"Hi Terry!" says the iRate4. Rats! I must have touched the screen again. "There's a problem in the Fantasy Section I'm afraid: looks like the hero's gone missing from one of the stories. If we don't sort it out the bad guys will take over. Before we know it they'll leak out into the other stories and it will be a right old mess."

I must admit I'm not paying much attention to the message. By now Sandy is trying to wrestle the phone out of my hand.

"That's dad's phone that is. You shouldn't have that. You'll break it!"

"I'll break you if you don't get off!" I retort.

Meanwhile the message is still playing, "See if you can stand in for the hero until the clean up squad is free. They're tied up in the Horror Section at the moment – there's a huge army of werebeasts building up. It's not just werewolves this time; there are werebears, wererats and even wererabbits! It's could get messy if they break out."

I twist free but Sandy jumps on my back and clings on like sticky tape.

"Give it to me!" she squeals as I spin around trying to shake her off. The only thing I manage to knock off is a huge stack of books from the desk. "It's special. Dad needs it!"

"The only thing 'special' here is you, you dweeb! Now get off,"

"Normal routine Terry," continues the phone, oblivious to the epic battle raging in the room. "When you're ready to start the mission, just touch the screen."

Stretching my arm up I try and hold the phone out of Sandy's reach. But she clambers up my shoulders and makes a grab for it.

Curling my fingers around the phone's screen I drop my shoulder. Sandy finally loses her grip and goes tumbling to the floor.

I'm about to gloat in triumph when the world goes a bit funny.

# Chapter Two

## It's All Gone Black

When I say a bit funny I really mean majorly weird.

The room starts to spin around me, getting faster and faster. Or is the room still and I'm the one spinning? It doesn't matter: the point is everything seems to be spinning around.

There is also a sort of swooshing, rushing, rumbling noise, kind of like the noise you get if you stick your fingers right in your ears, only much louder.

I'm getting dizzier and dizzier and feel I'm about to black out when there's a flash of super bright light and I thump down onto the floor.

Perhaps I did black out for a second or two because the next thing I know I'm lying on my back in the dark. Rolling onto my hands and knees, my heart beating fast, I grope around wondering why all the lights have gone out.

That's weird, the floor is all cold and dusty. It feels like stone. But dad's office has got a carpet hasn't it?

"Sandy?" I whisper, a slight waver to my voice. I'm annoyed at myself for feeling frightened of the dark, like some little kid, so I call a bit louder, "Sandy? Can you hear me?" There's no response. I bet she's snuck out of the office and turned all the lights off to scare me.

"Sandy! I know you're there!" I shout, shuffling forward on my hands and knees to try and reach the door and the light switch. "Stop playing around and switch the light back on!"

OW!

My hand flies to my head and comes away sticky. Blood? Reaching out with my other hand I feel the rough stone wall I've just bashed into.

Rough stone wall? There aren't any rough stone walls in dad's office. My heart is really thumping now. What's going on?

Using the wall to steady myself in the dark, I get to my feet and, with my hands stuck out in front of me to ward off any vicious walls, I shamble about like a zombie; except I don't make any moaning noises and none of my bits fall off. And, being dead, a zombie's heart wouldn't be banging against his ribs.

My foot knocks into some small, hard object and I hear it skitter across the stone floor (the object, not my foot). Getting back onto my hands and knees I grope around until my fingers touch something hand sized and plastic: dad's i-Rate4!

Snatching it up I stab a finger at the screen and it springs to life, casting quite a glow in the pitch black.

I'm not in dad's office at all! I'm in a tunnel!

How can I be in a tunnel?

My heart is really starting to pound now, like a caged gorilla trying to escape. Panic starts to flood my mind and I can feel it beginning to seize up.

Remembering what dad always says when I'm feeling like this, I take a deep breath, toss the gorilla a banana and force myself to calm down and think.

How can I have ended up in a tunnel?

Ah! I know! I clamber to my feet again and inspect the roof of the tunnel, expecting to see the trapdoor that I must have fallen through. But there's just solid rock above me!

I stand there for a while, my mind racing but going nowhere, just repeating the words TUNNEL, DARK, LOST and, strangely, CHEESE over and over.

Fortunately the sting of blood trickling into my eye snaps me out of it. I rub my arm across my face to wipe the blood away with my sleeve but jerk away: the feeling is all wrong. It feels like my arm is bare and my face is hairy!

In the glow of the iRate4 I find that my arm is not only bare, right up to the shoulder, but has huge muscles. It's also very long. And I have tight fitting, fingerless black leather gloves on my hands, with small metal points on the knuckles. They wouldn't be tight fitting if my hands were their normal size but they're enormous.

Holding the iRate4 further away I check the rest of me. Instead of my normal jeans and Star Wars t-shirt I'm dressed in black leather trousers and a jacket made of the same stuff but with chain mail stitched across the shoulders. There's a sword hanging from a belt at my waist and a bandolier stuffed full of knives draped diagonally across my body from one shoulder. And I'm massive, at least two metres tall, with muscles like a body builder.

What has happened to me! My mind starts churning out words again: ARGH, FREAK, HELP, SNOOT but finally settles on FROSTY! That's my own phrase by the way. It means, like, really cool!

Strangely, despite the weird thing that has happened to me, I stand there in the dark grinning, wondering what my mates at school are going to say when I turn up looking like an American wrestler. My grin widens when I think about what I'm going to do to the kids who keep teasing me about my name. (Pants is bad enough but what my parents were thinking when they called me Tyger I don't know; even I get images of stripy underwear in my head every time I hear it.)

My grin fades away as I remember that I am lost. I have to find my way out of this dark tunnel and back to the library.

Well, the tunnel must go somewhere. I guess I'm in some basement under the library and there are bound to be stairs back up to the main building. So, holding the glowing screen of the iRate4 before me like a torch, I creep down the tunnel.

After a minute or two, I turn a corner and am relieved to see light spilling out of an opening in the side of the tunnel; but, as I approach, the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and I feel a weight of dread settle in my stomach. Without thinking about it I find I have pulled the sword at my side from its scabbard. It feels comfortable in my hand and, feeling more confident, I stride the last few steps to the opening and peer through.

I'm hoping to see some dusty archive room crammed with old books, perhaps with Mr Boring or Miss Dull hanging around, waiting to show me back to dad's office. What I actually see is a rock cavern filled with the flickering light of flaming torches. It's certainly not what I was expecting to find under the library.

Neither is the group of men that are running across the cavern holding the flaming torches. They're coming from the opposite direction and heading rapidly towards me.

Thinking they might be able to help me I step into the cavern, which proves to be a mistake.

The group of men skid to a halt. "Who's there?" growls the largest man, waving his flaming torch before him. He's enormous, even bigger than me! That's the new me, not the ten year old me. He is also the ugliest looking bloke I have ever seen: he looks more like a dog than a man. An ugly dog. The word 'werewolf' springs into my mind. I dismiss it as nonsense. But then I look at the sword that my heavily muscled arm seems to be automatically bringing up into a protective position in front of me. Isn't that nonsense?

What the heck is going on!?

The group pull out swords, knives and other dangerous looking things that I don't even know the name of and spread out before me. There are four of them. Each looks like some kind of man/beast. There's another werewolf, although smaller than the first, one that looks like a rat/man...wererat?...with a twitching, pointy nose and a scaly tail flicking around behind him, and a long eared...wererabbit?

Majorly weird! It's like some sort of fantasy story.

Fantasy story?!

My thoughts flash back to my fight with Sandy over dad's iRate4. Hadn't the bloke on the phone said something about trouble in the Fantasy Section? And pressing the screen to start the mission?

I touched the screen! My stomach tightens. Am I on some kind of secret mission?

# Chapter Three

## Cretin the Cruel

The large werewolf tosses his torch so that it lands a metre in front of me, casting flickering light into my face.

"Hah! If it isn't Victor the Victor!" grates the werewolf, whilst motioning with his hands (paws?) for the others to spread out further and surround me, cutting off any chance I might have of retreating into the tunnel. His voice sounds like someone swirling gravel around in the bottom of a bucket. "I thought you'd come to try and stop me."

Who the heck is Victor the Victor? I glance behind me but there's no one there.

"Er...do you mean me," I ask. Whoa! My voice is really deep and loud.

"Of course I mean you!" snaps the werewolf. "What are you playing at Victor?"

"Er...I'm not Victor," I boom, thinking that, actually, I don't sound like me either. "You must have me mixed up with someone else."

"Howhowhowhowwlll!" The werewolf's laugh sounds more like a howl. "You won't trick me that easily Victor my old enemy. If you want to pretend to be someone else, at least come in disguise!"

Come in disguise? Well, I certainly don't look like me. Am I someone else? How can I be someone else? I'm me! Whilst I'm thinking this my body seems to be acting on its own. Crouched low, with the sword before me, I'm circling slowly, trying to keep all four of these werebeasts in sight.

"I don't know how you managed to get in front of us Victor but it will do you no good. It's four against one. Face it – this time you've lost!" continues the werewolf. "I have the Portal of Infinite Power and with it I will crush the Fantasy Realm."

I've circled away from the werewolf but out of the corner of my eye I can see him waving around what looks like a plastic model of some fancy doorway, the sort of door you'd get on a church or something.

What is he going on about? Is that thing the Portal of Infinite Power? And where is the Fantasy Realm?

"Victor! Are you listening to me!" the werewolf snaps.

"Er...Sorry, I'm a bit confused! Who are you?" I ask. By this time I've circled back round to face him.

"Who am I? Who am I! What is wrong with you Victor? Have you had a bang on the head?" snarls the werewolf, tapping the plastic model thing against his own head. "I am Cretin the Cruel, your arch enemy – remember?!" he drawls sarcastically. "Now stop trying to fool me into thinking you are someone else!"

Cretin the Cruel! Victor the Victor! This isn't real. It can't be. "What is going on here?" I mutter, wondering if perhaps I _have_ had a bang on the head.

"Ok, enough games," snarls Cretin. "You know what is going on! I've stolen the Portal of Infinite Power so I can open a doorway to Horrorville and unleash my Werebeast Army. And you're..." his voice trails off and a frown creases his brow, or at least I think it does, it's hard to tell under all that hair. "...and you're trying to stall us! Quick, get him!" he barks at the others. "The guards can't be far behind and we're wasting time!"

The other three werebeasts dump their flaming torches to the stone floor of the cavern and surge forward all at once. My body spins and slashes out with the sword, making them jump back. At the same time my left hand drops the iRate4 to the floor and grasps the hilt of one of the knives strapped across my body, yanking it free. Before I know what has happened my left hand flies up and then snaps down, the knife hissing through the air and stabbing up to the hilt into the wererat's shoulder.

My body leaps into the injured wererat, smashing it to the ground. It doesn't get back up. I back into the space where it had stood and can now turn to face the other three werebeasts all at once, without one lurking behind me.

All of this has happened in moments, my mind hardly able to keep up with what my body is doing. Which is just freaky! Surely my mind should be telling my body what to do! It feels like I'm in one of those simulation rides at a theme park where they strap you in the dark and whizz you through simulated space or race you around a formula one Grand Prix. There's nothing you can do to control it, you just get hurtled around. Which is fine in a theme park; it's not so great when it's in your own head!

The smaller werewolf launches an attack against my right side. My arm automatically swings the sword up. A clanging clash of steel on steel echoes around the cavern as the attack is blocked but my mind is screaming that it wants to be in control! Even as it does, my left hand snakes up to grab another knife and lifts it, ready to let fly.

I rebel and force it to stop.

It does! Hooray! I am in control.

Wham!

The wererabbit, given my moment of hesitation, has slammed into my left side. Instantly the smaller werewolf smashes his sword into the hand guard of my own, stunning my fingers, and my sword clatters to the cold stone floor. They grab my arms, one to each and haul them behind me, forcing them up high.

"ARRRGGH!"

I have to stand on tip toe to ease the wrenching pain in my shoulders: it feels like my arms are about to be twisted out of their sockets.

"Howhowhowhowwlll!" laughs Cretin, swaggering up in front of me. He thrusts his head forward so he is nose to nose with me. I can smell his rancid breath and feel the heat from his nostrils as he snorts, "Victor the Victor? Not this time!"

Strangely, despite the danger, all I can think is that he must be a very healthy dog because he's got a nice wet nose. But that thought explodes from my head and I'm suddenly buckling over, the wind knocked out of me by a thunderous punch to my stomach. As I bend over, coughing violently, my arms are wrenched even more and hot, tearing pain sears through my shoulders. If I had any breath left in my body I'd be screaming in agony.

"So many times you have thwarted me Victor! And so many times I have thought about revenge! And now I have you..."

There is a blur of sudden movement and a second punch hammers into my bruised middle. If I wasn't being held up by the two werebeasts behind me I'd be on my knees. I desperately try to suck in air. My mind is a whirr of pain and panic: it doesn't feel like a simulation ride anymore.

Cretin grabs me by the hair and yanks my head up. He has a knife in his hand! What is he going to do with that?!

"I've got lots of ideas," he growls, as if he heard my desperate thoughts. "There are all sorts of bits I could cut off. Of course, eventually you'll die as all your blood leaks away...but I think I can make it last an agonising day or two."

He slowly guides the knife up to my face until the tip is resting high on my check, angled towards my right eye. Heart pounding, throat tight, body pouring out sweat, I'm frantic to get away but daren't move!

"Perhaps I'll start with your eyes. Just ease the point of my knife gently in until...pthurppp...they burst!!"

I'm almost panting now, trying to breathe whilst my heart is racing. Sweat is trickling from my forehead, stinging my eyes. I don't blink, my eyes are fixed in terror on the knife tip edging ever closer, my vision filled with the glinting point.

Cretin can obviously read the horror in my face because he starts to laugh again, "Howhowhowhowwlll! But that will never do! If I gouge out your eyes you won't be able to see the other treats I have lined up for you." With a lightening movement the knife is whipped away from my face but I can feel the sharp edge against my right ear. "So, maybe an ear first? Howhowhowhowwlll! What do you think Victor?" he snarls in my face, flecks of werewolf spit splattering my face. His breath is truly rotten and, even in the face of terror, I can't stop the thought that he could do with trying some of those doggy dental chews. "Eyes or ears first?" he continues. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Ah! Tongue! Now there's an idea..."

I can't keep the image of Cretin curled up in a dog bed gnawing on a dental chew out of my head. Strangely, it cuts through my panic and I feel like I've been released from some kind of spell. I start to struggle and heave against the werebeasts holding me. Ignoring the pain in my shoulders I twist to my left. I think the grip of the werebeast holding my right arm might be loosening. If I can just get that arm free I can...

"AARRGH!"

Hot searing pain across my face!

Cretin's hand rakes down at my face again but I thrust my head back and his blooded claws skitter across the chain mail stitched to my leather top instead. He jerks his hand back for another slashing attack but, just as he is about to lash out, his head jerks up and he stares across the cavern in the direction they had been running from.

"Guards!" he growls. "Quick, we must escape with the Portal!"

I strain my ears but can't hear anything: but then I don't have a wolf's sensitive hearing.

"I truly wish I could take my time over this but..." Cretin's knife flashes towards my face. My body takes over again and darts to the side, jerking free of the werebeasts holding me. The blade slashes along my already clawed and blooded cheek and the hilt thuds into the side of my head, stunning me and knocking me to the floor.

In my dazed state I can hear the fading sound of booted feet thudding down the tunnel I had entered the cavern from. Cretin and the other werebeasts have fled, leaving me for dead.

# Chapter Four

## Librarians

Groaning I roll onto my hands and knees and suck in some deep breaths. With a grunt I push myself to my feet. After about a second the world starts to spin and I sway and stagger. Fortunately the feeling passes quickly and my head clears.

There's another groaning noise behind me. My body spins, my hand flashing to draw another knife from the bandolier strapped across my body. In the light of one of the torches left lying on the cavern floor by the werebeasts, I can see that the wererat is starting to come round.

Rats! I don't need another fight now. I already feel like a punch bag!

Tie him up! Rope? I quickly search my body but don't find any handy rope. Not surprising really, it's not the kind of thing you usually carry around; mobile phone, money, penknife...maybe; handy rope...no. But then again I don't usually lug around a sword and a load of knives.

What can I use instead? Spotting that the wererat is wearing a cloak I pull it from him and, using the knife, cut it into strips. I quickly tie some of the pieces together and bind the wererat's hands and feet. I use one of the remaining strips to wipe some of the blood from my cheek. The flow seems to have stopped. I think the blood clotting in my beard has sealed the wound. Hah! Now, there's a thought I didn't expect to have today.

What now? I should try and get back up to the library. There must be a way up somewhere!

In a bit of a daze I pick up the sword and the knife that I dropped during the fight and fumble them back into their sheaths. I'm just wondering what to do about the knife sticking out of the wererat's shoulder when an ancient pop tune from the 1990's starts echoing around the cavern. Dad's phone!

It's a bright spark of reality in this grim underground world. But where is it?

I dropped it during the fight!

Spinning around, my eyes search the floor for the phone. Please don't end the call! There's a narrow chink of light on the floor to my right. There it is! It's lying screen down. I snatch it up and stab at the screen with my finger.

"Dad? Dad is that you?!" I blurt.

"Tyger?"

"Dad?"

"Tyger! Thank god! You sound different."

"Dad! What's going on!" I burst out, relieved at hearing a familiar voice. "I was messing around with your phone and Sandy and I were having a fight and then the world started spinning around and I think I blacked out and now I don't know where I am. Or who I am! I'm not me! Or at least my body isn't mine! And I've been attacked by werebeasts! It's all totally mental!"

"Slow down Tyger!" says dad. "Take a breath and calm down."

I take a deep breath and calm down, a bit.

"Tyger, now listen to me and answer my questions as calmly as you can. Don't panic and everything will be alright." I try to keep calm but there's a panicky tone in Dad's own voice that isn't helping. "Firstly, are you alright: you said you've been attacked?"

"I'm ok. I got beaten up by werebeasts but they're gone now."

"Are you hurt?"

"I've got some cuts on my cheek and a few bruises but I think I'm ok. What's going on!"

"Nothing too bad then," says dad with a sigh, some of the panic gone from his voice.

"Well it's not great!" I snap "I don't know where I am, except that I'm in a huge underground cavern with a tied up wererat, and I seem to be in a strange body, which is bruised and bleeding! What's going on!"

"You've been messing around with my Editor, that's what's going on!" Dad doesn't sound happy. "Sandy burst into our emergency meeting to tell me you had collapsed. When I got here I found your body slumped on the floor. And then, when I stuck my hand in my pocket to grab my Editor, to call for an ambulance, it wasn't there. Sandy told me you had it; that you had been fighting over it when you collapsed. I'm guessing you've activated a mission! You're in the story!"

"In the story? What the heck does, 'in the story' mean?"

"You're in Fictonia. It's where all the stories happen! Hang on a minute and I'll check the computer to see where the mission's taken you."

"Dad, what are you on about? Where am I?" Even Victor's deep bass voice has a high shrill quality to it by now.

"I think you must be in the Fantasy Section somewhere, if there are werewolves there. I'm just checking the mission log."

"In the Fantasy Section? You mean I'm in the library?" Phew that's a huge relief! "I've never seen anything like this in the library! Is it some kind of play you're putting on? It's a bit violent!"

"No, Tyger!" I can hear dad taking a few deep breaths. "You're in the Fantasy Section in Fictonia. Now just let me concentrate on this a minute." There are faint clicking noises coming from the phone as dad taps away at a keyboard.

In the relative silence I think I can faintly hear the sound of running feet echoing from the far side of the cavern. Is that the guards Cretin was running from? They still sound a long way away.

There's a scuffling noise behind me and I turn to see that the wererat is fully conscious now and struggling against his bonds. They seem to be holding.

As the tapping from the phone continues my mind starts whirring over what dad has told me so far. Not a lot! I messed with his Editor and now I'm on a mission in a story? What's an Editor?

"Dad! What's an Editor?"

"What?"

"You said I'd been messing around with your Editor."

"The phone, we call them Editors because they help us edit, or change, the stories when they go wrong."

"Oh!" I don't know what else to say. "Hang on, if I've got your phone how can you be calling me?"

"What?"

"How can you call me if I've got your phone?"

"It's not the only phone in the world Tyger. I'm using the landline on my desk. The desk your unconscious body is lying next to! Now, be quiet whilst I...ah! Here we are. Here's today's mission list..."

"Dad, this is all too weird for me. I just want to know what's happening!"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" I can hear dad taking a few more deep breaths. "Sorry Tyger. It's all a bit complicated. Basically the stories have lives of their own. They all take place in Fictonia. If the Librarians don't keep them in check, the plots, that's the story lines, all go wrong."

"Librarians?" I'm finding it hard to listen because I don't really want to hear what's being said. I think I'm missing bits. "But you just look after a load of books and stuff."

"Yes. We do that too. That's the easy part. Books tend to just sit around on shelves. They're easy to take care of. But the stories are a different matter. If there weren't any Librarians to look after them they'd go out of control. It's a lot of hard work keeping the stories on plot. And the characters are always changing, or even going missing completely."

"So you're telling me I'm actually _in_ a story?" I need to check this because it's majorly weird.

"Yes! Now will you let me have a look at these missions?" I hear the faint clicking of keys again in the background. "Here we are. This looks like the one. It's a story set in the Fantasy Realm. It's part of a series about Victor the Victor and his arch enemy Cretin the Cruel."

"Yes!" I exclaim, relieved that I recognise something that is going on. "That's it. The leader of the werebeasts was called Cretin the Cruel and he kept calling me Victor."

"Yes, that would be right. According to these mission details you're going to be Victor the Victor. He's the hero: Cretin the Cruel's arch enemy. For some reason he's gone missing from the story in Fictonia; probably slipped through a hole in the plot and ended up in another story.

"Right," dad continues, "your mission is to fill in for Victor and complete the story so Cretin the Cruel doesn't win. And let me tell you, we don't want _that_ to happen!"

"Why not? How bad would it be if this Cretin did win?" I ask.

"Well, for the characters in the Fantasy Realm it would be a disaster: destruction, ruin, death...! But worse than that it will send shock waves through every story nearby, like an earthquake. Before we know it the whole Fantasy Section could go wrong and start leaking into other stories. Can you imagine what would happen if a flight of dragons turned up in Winnie the Pooh? And then there's the clean-up work, putting everything back as it should be after things have gone wrong."

I can't help thinking a flight of dragons would liven up Winnie the Pooh enormously.

"But don't worry Tyger. This is a really easy mission. You can't go wrong."

Phew!!

"It looks like you've come in near the end of the story. According to this mission log, you - Victor the Victor - have been magically teleported into the path of a band of werebeasts that are escaping with the stolen Portal of Infinite Power. It says here that Victor the Victor is a magnificent fighting hero. So, all you have to do is let his body take over. It has all the fighting skills you need built into it. He should easily be able to overpower the werebeasts, or at least stop them from escaping until the guards catch up."

"But dad! The werebeasts have already escaped!"

"What?" Dad sounds worried.

"I told you! The werebeasts attacked me! They beat me up and ran off!"

"What! How could that happen? It's not in the plot. You're a fighting hero that nobody can beat?"

"Well, I _was_ fighting pretty well. But then I freaked out because I felt out of control. So I tried to take control...and then it all went wrong."

"Oh no!! That's a disaster! According to this log the story _ends_ there. There _isn't_ any more story. This could bring the whole Fantasy Section down! And it will be all your fault!"

That hits me like a snowball in the face. "That's not fair! I didn't know what was going on."

I hear dad taking more deep breaths. "No. I guess you're right. But you shouldn't have been messing with my Editor, Tyger! That's top secret, Library Service equipment!"

"Sorry..." I mumble. I feel like pointing out that if it was so top secret and important then he should have been more careful with it and not left it lying around in the first place but figure I'm in enough trouble already.

"Right! Look, you're going to have to continue with the mission. You'll have to try and track these werebeasts down and capture them before they cause too much damage."

"But dad! How am I supposed to do that?"

"Well, there's no plot to help you because the story is supposed to have ended. So you're going to have to make it up as you go along. The most important thing is to play the part of Victor. Be Victor. The other characters have to believe you are Victor."

"Why?" I ask.

"They don't know they're in a story. It's all real to them. They mustn't find out that their world is controlled by the Librarians or it will all go wrong."

"Dad, I don't think I can do this!"

"Don't worry Tyger, it will be all right. I'll track down another Editor and hack into the story to get you out. In the meantime I know a few Librarian secrets that you can use that will help. Firstly, you must always..."

There's a long silence.

"Firstly I must always what? Dad? Dad!?"

The phone has gone dead!!

I give it a shake.

Still dead!!

The battery's flat! I must have drained it using the phone as a torch in that tunnel!

# Chapter Five

## Bunsen

I'm too busy jabbing at the Editor's screen, in the hopes that if I hit it enough times it will make the stupid thing work, to notice that the guards have finally turned up. The jabbing doesn't do any good so I shove the Editor into my pocket with a growl of frustration.

"I see you've got one of them Victor, but where is Cretin? And have you got the Portal?"

Startled I look up. There's a dragon stood before me!

The dragon is exactly like I had always imagined a dragon to be: shimmering green scales; long curving neck and whip like tail with barbed tip; almost triangular head made up mostly of jaw, full of gleaming pointed teeth; and a ridge of spikes running along its neck, back and the length of its tail.

Absolutely awesome!

Shame it's only about 10 inches long though. That's a bit of a let down. He's kind of dwarfed by the guards standing behind him. At least I'm guessing it's a he: I don't know how you tell the difference with dragons.

"Victor! Have you got the Portal?" the dragon demands.

Portal? Was that the plastic doorway thing Cretin the Cruel was waving around? Dad said they had stolen it didn't he?

The dragon stretches out his leathery wings and flaps into the air, rising until he is at head height. He stares me in the eye, head tilted to one side. "Are you in there Victor? You are not acting like yourself."

Rats! Dad said I mustn't let them know I'm not Victor or it will all go wrong! I have to be Victor. I have to be a fighting hero.

"Er..." I begin. It's not a very heroic start. "I am Victor." Lame!

"Yes," says the dragon with a frown. "You are Victor."

Hey, maybe I'm better at this than I thought.

"But what is wrong with you. Have you had a bang on the head?" he asks, flapping around to inspect the side of my head, where Cretin's knife hilt had smashed into it.

"That's it! Bang on the head," I manage.

"Ok. We'll take it one step at a time then. First thing, sit down; it's not easy hovering in front of you!"

I plonk myself on the floor. The dragon lands between my legs and says, "The most important thing is, have you got the Portal?"

"That plastic thing? No. Cretin ran off down the tunnel with it."

"Blast!" he snaps. And he does! A tiny spurt of flame leaks out from between his teeth and scorches the stone floor between my legs. I shuffle back a bit on my bottom and drop my hands to protect my er...bits.

"Right! Flint, you deal with the wererat, the rest of you get down that tunnel after Cretin," the dragon snarls at the guards, who quickly carry out his orders.

"Ok Victor, you can tell me what happened on the move. I don't rate their chances of catching up with Cretin," he says, waving a wing tip at the retreating backs of the guards chasing down the tunnel, "which means we have to get back up to the palace to plan for war!"

War! What war?

"If Cretin uses the Portal to unleash his Werebeast Army we're in for a war to end all wars!" snarls the dragon, as if he had heard my thoughts. "And what War Council will be complete without you, Victor my old friend?"

Old friend? This dragon seems to know me very well, or at least Victor, and I don't even know his name. I try and think of some subtle way of asking.

I fail.

"Who are you?"

The dragon frowns at me.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Bang on the head."

"I am Bunsen, head of Palace Security." When I still look blank he adds with a sigh, "We go adventuring together, fighting goblins and trolls and raiding evil temples?"

"Ah! Of course, Bunion!"

"Bunsen!" snaps Bunsen with a frown.

"Yes, Bunsen, my old friend!" I reach over and give him a hero style manly hug. It's a bit awkward, what with all the wings and swords and knives and stuff in the way.

When I release him Bunsen shakes out his crushed wings and nods. "Well, at least that's a bit more like the gormless clot I'm used to," he mutters. "Come on Victor, on your feet. You can tell me what happened on our way up to the palace, right from the point when that useless wizard teleported you off to block Cretin's escape."

Getting to my feet I grab one of the flaming torches from the floor and we head off across the cavern, me taking huge strides with my massively long legs and Bunsen flapping along at head height. There's horrible smelly black smoke coming off the torch, stinging my eyes and making me cough. I hold the torch higher, which helps a bit.

I'm not sure what to tell Bunsen about my fight with Cretin. Dad said it's important that everyone here believes I'm Victor and I'm not sure I acted much like the real Victor would have done. I think it was when I tried to make him act like me that it all went wrong!

We're most of the way across the cavern and about to enter a tunnel on the other side and I still haven't said anything. Bunsen gives me another hard stare.

"Victor, can you remember what happened?"

Can't remember! Brilliant: that's always a good excuse! I decide to play on the bang on the head that everyone seems to think I've had. Probably best to work it in to my story right at the beginning, to cover up any non Victor like things I might have done.

"It's all a bit hazy," I say. It's a nice beginning I think, giving me lots of chances to dodge awkward questions. Now, how did Bunsen say Victor got here? Oh yes... "When the wizard teleported me...er...um... I think...ah! yes...I think I must have arrived upside-down."

"Pah!" interrupts Bunsen. "That sound about right! That wizard is useless. I mean, look what he did to me! Sorry, go on..."

Wondering just what this wizard _did_ do to him, I carry on with my tale as we enter the tunnel. "I...er...tried to twist around but...er...landed on my head! I was dazed and confused when Cretin and the other werebeasts came running across the cavern. That was how they managed to catch me. I managed to get the wererat but the others overpowered me. I think they were about to kill me when they heard you coming and fled."

"With the Portal..." grumbles Bunsen, spitting out flames and wisps of black smoke.

"What is this Portal thing anyway?" I ask.

Bunsen scowls at me. "How can you forget something so important!"

"Er...bang on the head?"

"It's the Portal of Infinite Power," he snarls.

We stride and flap our way through the maze of tunnels for a few moments in silence.

"And why is it so important," I prompt.

"You really did get a bang on the head didn't you! The Portal is magical. It can open a doorway to anywhere!"

"So?"

"So?" Bunsen snaps. "So, Cretin will use it to open a doorway to Horrorville and march his Werebeast Army through. If we can't stop him in time, the Fantasy Realm will be crushed beneath their marching feet and slashing claws!"

The bloke from the message on dad's Editor had said something about an army of werebeasts in the Horror Section hadn't he? He had been worried that they might break out. Well, it looks like they're going to break out here!

We come to a jagged opening that looks like it's been blasted through with dynamite or something. The tunnels so far have been hacked out of the rock, or maybe formed naturally, but as we step through the opening I can see that the walls of the passageway beyond are made of carefully cut stone blocks.

Bunsen sees me looking curiously at the difference in the walls. "We're in the cellars of the palace now. This must be where Cretin broke in to steal the Portal of Infinite Power," he explains.

"We'll have to block it up or we'll get all sorts of vermin wandering into the Palace from these tunnels," says Bunsen, wrinkling his nostrils as if there's a bad smell.

"What, like rats and stuff!" I exclaim, quickly scanning the floor to make sure there aren't any about to scurry up my trousers.

"Rats? No, these old cellars are stuffed full of rats and mice already; it's only the flames from your torch keeping them hidden away." This doesn't reassure me much. "It's dwarves that you've got to watch out for," Bunsen continues. "Little blighters! It's safe enough when they're deep underground but give them a way into the Palace like this and they'll nick all the beer and steal all the kids quicker than you can say, 'We should have blocked up that hole!'."

"Steal all the kids?" I'm a little alarmed at this. "Do they use them as slaves or something?"

"No, they eat them. A dwarven delicacy apparently. But you know all this already, Victor. I hope your memory comes back soon! Of course we probably won't have to worry about the pesky dwarves soon," he adds.

"Why not," I ask.

"Because we'll all be dead!"

Not knowing what to say I force a grin and follow Bunsen as he leads us through a door and up some stairs, keeping an eye out for scurrying things and kidnapping dwarves hiding in the shifting shadows. My previous mental image of cheery, round faced, friendly dwarves is erased, replaced with creepy, shadow faced, leering dwarves, as we walk along dingy corridors, go through more doors and climb more stair, steadily making our way out of the cellars and dungeons under the Palace. I breathe a sigh of relief when we eventually reach a level where windows let daylight in and I can get rid of the stinky torch.

We flap and walk along a couple of corridors lined with the sort of stuff you might expect to find in a palace; statues and paintings and suits of armour and the like. But then we turn down corridors of bare stone, passing harassed looking people burdened with bundles of laundry, trays of plates and cups and stuff. I'm guessing these must be the servants' corridors.

Squeezing past a servant with a tray of empty glasses we turn a corner, step around a wooden screen and find ourselves in a large hall, full of confused noise and din.

# Chapter Six

## War Council

In the hall before us there are maybe twenty people sat around an enormous U shaped table carved from stone. They are all dressed in what I think of as medieval clothes: variously coloured tunic tops, woollen tights on their legs, leather shoes or boots on their feet and capes draped over their shoulders or hanging over the backs of their wooden chairs. Notable exceptions to this are a striking looking figure with a golden crown and dressed in a purple robe, sat at the centre of the bottom of the U, and an older looking bloke with a huge drooping white moustache, who is sat on the right side of the U in full plate mail armour, a feather plumed helmet on the table top in front of him.

A man wearing a deep blue cape and a matching floppy cap, like one of those French hats but really big, is on his feet, gesturing with one hand as he shouts over the various arguments that seem to be going on around the table, "...your points are well made but the city must be our main priority! If the city falls, then the whole Fantasy Realm will be destroyed!"

The figure with the crown seems to be the only one not trying to make some point to all the other. He is sat in his chair with a deep furrow on his brow. When he sees Bunsen and me enter the hall he pushes himself to his feet and hammers his fist down on the table top so hard it makes the glasses on it jump.

"Silence!!" he bellows.

The racket in the hall stutters to silence and all eyes turn to the figure with the crown, the King I'm guessing, then, following his gaze, they turn to look at us.

"Victor!" exclaims the King, rising to his feet. "Did you stop them? Have you the Portal!?"

"No!" answers Bunsen on my behalf. "Cretin has escaped with the Portal."

There are gasps and curses from all around the room. Immediately the shouting starts up again.

"Silence!" bellows the King again and the room falls reluctantly quiet once more. The King's eyes move around the room, making eye contact with each person there, one at a time, as he continues, "It is not the news we wanted to hear but we must listen to it! Then we must plan what we can do."

"We must protect the city! Without..." begins the man in the blue cape, springing to his feet.

"Mercator, sit down and be silent!" snaps the King. "You will get your say but we must listen to all. And we will start with Bunsen and Victor," he says, nodding in our direction and gesturing that we should take the two remaining seats on the left side of the U.

We stride and flap over to our seats, although Bunsen lands on the table itself. Bunsen begins to relate our tale.

"I will not waste time with long words: Cretin has escaped. I have sent guards after him but fear that he has too much of a head start. In any event, there is a maze of tunnels down there that we knew nothing of. No doubt Cretin has explored them and knows exactly where he is going whereas the guards are likely to get lost."

"Should we send more guards to help in the search?" queries the King.

"I fear it will be a waste of time, Your Majesty. I'm sure Cretin has a fast exit planned. I imagine that once he is clear of pursuit he will take the time needed to work out how to activate and control the Portal. Then he will simply step through a doorway to his stronghold, where he will be safe from immediate capture. Then he will open a doorway to Horrorville and the Werebeast Army will start to mass."

There is a general rumbling and muttering at this but the King raises his arm for silence and asks, "Victor, what happened after Tim Armadillo teleported you to block Cretin's escape?"

"Er..." I begin. I'm meant to be acting like Victor and it's not very heroic. But then I'm not used to being asked questions by a King. I'll have to stick to the same story I told Bunsen, which is mostly true anyway. "When I arrived in the tunnels I was upside down and landed on my head. Unfortunately it left me dazed and seems to have messed up my memory a bit. When Cretin and the other werebeasts attacked I was confused. I managed to get one of them but the others caught me. They were going to finish me off but Bunsen and the guards arrived and they ran off. Er...sorry?"

The King dismisses my, sort of, apology with a majestic wave of his hand. "It was a desperate plan in any event. Your odds were never good but Tim Armadillo could only send one and you were the obvious choice."

"His odds would have been a lot better if he hadn't been landed on his head," mutters Bunsen. "Where is the wizard anyway?" he asks, looking around the faces at the table.

"He is in the Wizard's Tower, preparing spells for the war," responds the King. "And that also is what we must do. Sir Rosmarus, please update us with the standing of our own army."

The man in the plate mail armour nods his head at the King and then rises to his feet. "My liege, the army is in good order. The moment the alarm was raised the garrisons were assembled and all is being prepared in readiness to march upon the enemy..."

The bloke in the blue floppy hat and cape - Mercator? - leaps to his feet. "March upon the enemy! We should defend the city walls! This is where our strength lies!" There is some rumbling of agreement from the people sat around him.

"Peace Mercator!" snaps the King, in a very un-peaceful way. "As head of the Guild of Merchants and Shopkeepers you will have your say in a moment. Sir Rosmarus, please continue..."

"My liege," the knight says with a bow to the King and an angry glare at Mercator. "What our _friend_ Mercator says is true," he begins, almost growling the word friend. "We would be in more of a position of strength if we stayed in the city. The city walls would give us a great advantage in defending against the Werebeast Army."

"So why this talk of marching out!" snaps Mercator.

"There are many reasons," says Sir Rosmarus, stroking his long drooping moustache. The moustache makes him look like a walrus. Except that he isn't huge and blubbery. And he doesn't have flippers and a tail. And walruses don't wear armour. Or have legs. Maybe he doesn't look like a walrus.

"Firstly," continues Sir Rosmarus, "our cavalry will be our best weapon against the werebeasts. Mounted on horseback they will be able to outmanoeuvre the enemy and will have an advantage of strength and speed. But not if they are stuck behind the walls of the city."

"Possibly, but our archers will have fine target practice from the walls," counters Mercator, to the murmured approval of his supporters.

"What about the people outside the walls?" asks Bunsen from beside me.

"Thank you, Bunsen," says Sir Rosmarus with a nod in his direction. "That, indeed, is the second reason to march out. We also need to protect the people that are not in the city; the farmers, the fishermen, the forest workers, the miners and so on. If the army sits defending the walls of the city there will be nobody to stop the Werebeast Army ravaging the land and slaughtering the people."

"We can bring them into the city!" snarls Mercator. Next to me, Bunsen rumbles deep in his chest.

"We could," agrees Sir Rosmarus, "but the werebeasts will still ravage the land. They will burn the crops and kill the livestock. Then we will be stuck in the city with our food slowly running out."

"We have vast supplies of grain and salted meats," points out Mercator.

"Which will soon disappear with all the extra people in the city," counters Sir Rosmarus.

"There is another factor to be taken into account," wheezes a small figure huddled in a blue robe, seated to the right hand of the King. "The longer the Portal remains open, the more werebeasts Cretin the Cruel can bring through from Horrorville. Even as we speak werebeasts may be marching into the Fantasy Realm. If we simply defend the walls of the city and do nothing to stop him, his army may grow to such a size it will simply swarm over the city walls and crush us."

"Caspar is correct, my liege," agrees Sir Rosmarus. "We have to march in order to shut down the Portal. The longer we wait the harder the task!"

"We don't even know how big the Werebeast Army is," counters Mercator. "There may be far fewer than we fear. Anyway, Cretin's stronghold is twenty leagues away. The cavalry may move swiftly but the foot soldiers will take four days to cover that distance. By then the army will be too big to tackle in the field.

"Your Majesty," continues Mercator, turning to the King, "our only chance is to defend the walls. If the land is ravaged we can restore it. But if the city is lost there will be no hope of returning order to the rest of the Fantasy Realm after the war. We will be left _without a ruler_ , without law and without organisation. It is vital that the city is protected or we risk losing all that makes us civilised."

The King manages a small smile at the obvious hint from Mercator that if the city isn't protected then the King will be in danger. "Mercator, I suspect that as the richest man in the city it is your money and position that you would most like to protect."

Mercator frowns at this and declares, "Your Majesty! I would give up every coin I have to assure your safety and the defence of the Realm."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mercator, for the cost of providing silver weapons to all the soldiers is going to have to come from somewhere," declares the King.

Mercator's frown twists into a grimace.

"And whilst I appreciate your concern for my safety," the King continues, "I can assure you that, if I decide the army is to march to war, I will not be left unprotected in the city: I will be marching with the army!"

"Your Majesty, is that wise?" asks a younger looking man in a silver grey, padded quilt jacket.

"Possibly not, Thomas, but I fear there may be no 'after the war' as Mercator puts it; at least not for us. And I cannot allow my army to go to war without me leading the way. But whether to march out and face Cretin in the field or to man the walls and defend the city: I am still undecided..."

Whilst listening to all of this my mind has been racing, trying to work out an answer to the problems. The city needs to be defended because that is where a lot of the people are and it's where all the rules are made that organise the Fantasy Realm. But the people outside the city also need to be defended. If the army stays to defend the city they will have the advantage of the walls but they won't be able to use one of their best weapons; the horse mounted cavalry. And with every passing moment more werebeasts could be swarming into Cretin's stronghold, ready to ravage the land. But the foot soldiers cannot move fast enough to get to Cretin before he has built a huge army...

So, what we need to do is...

"I have it!" I suddenly find myself on my feet with everyone looking at me. What do I see in their eyes: despair, defeat, hope? All of them I think. My stomach tightens and my heart starts pounding. Under the weight of all those stares my mind grinds to a stop. "Er..."

I can't dither now! I've got to be the brave, bald hero. Sorry - brave, bold hero. The image of me with a bald head makes me smile and my nerves fade away.

"It seems to me..." I shout. Victor's voice is much louder than my own and his deep tones shake dust from the wooden rafters holding up the roof, high overhead. "It seems to me," I say again in softer tones, "that the most important thing is to shut down this Portal thing as soon as possible. If we can do that then Cretin's Werebeast Army will be small enough to defeat. But the army will not be able to get to Cretin's stronghold for four days and by then the Werebeast Army will already be too big. In which case, it would be better to stay here and defend the city walls."

"Yes, that is what I have been trying to..." begins Mercator before the King waves him to a stop.

"The problem with that," I continue, "is it means Cretin will have nothing to stop him massing an army big enough to destroy the city anyway, as well as everyone outside."

"Yes, yes! We know all this," snaps Mercator. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Bunsen scowling at him, wisps of smoke leaking from his jaw. "But what do you propose we do about it!"

"Yes, Victor," says the King, his elbows resting on the table and his hands steepled under his chin, as if in prayer, "what do you think we should do? I would welcome your advice."

The stares from everyone around the table seem to be drilling into my head. It's like being hit and I take a small step back, feeling unbalanced. Will my ideas work? Or will it lead to defeat?

"Er...well...I think we should attack Cretin _and_ defend the city." I pause to try and get my ideas lined up in my head, ready to say more, but Sir Rosmarus, thinking I have finished, gets to his feet with a clank of armour.

"My liege! With respect, I think Victor is more used to adventuring on his own or in a small group and does not grasp the tactics of fighting with an army. We do not have enough soldiers to march against Cretin _and_ defend the walls of the city. The force on the march will be too small to deal with the Werebeast Army in the field and there will not be enough men left to defend the walls properly."

"Noted Rosmarus. But I think Victor has more to say," says the King, gesturing for Sir Rosmarus to sit.

"Er...yes your King, er...Majesty," I stutter. Then more steadily, "The foot soldiers cannot get to Cretin's stronghold fast enough to be able to defeat Cretin's army. So, they should stay to defend the city. But the cavalry can ride much faster and could arrive at the stronghold before the Werebeast Army is too big."

"Mmmm," mutters the King. "It has merit. But will the cavalry be able to get there in time? Rosmarus?"

Sir Rosmarus sits for a moment, stroking his moustache in thought. "My liege, it will take the cavalry a full day to travel the distance," he says. "I fear by then Cretin will already have amassed an army too large for the cavalry to deal with on their own, without the backup of the foot soldiers and the archers. It won't work," he concludes with a shake of his head.

"Wait!" I cry. "The final part of the plan is for me to try and sneak into Cretin's stronghold and shut down the Portal before the Cavalry arrive. If I can do that then the Werebeast Army won't be too big for the cavalry to beat!"

I'm pleased to see that the stares from around the table seem to be more full of hope than defeat now. Except for Bunsen, who is giving me a vicious glare.

"I hope you don't think you're sneaking off to battle Cretin without _me_!" he growls, scratching at the stone tabletop with his claws as he turns to confront me. "If you're going on a suicide mission to save the Realm then I'm coming too!"

The King manages another small smile at the sight of a tiny dragon facing down the huge hero towering over him. Not that I feel much like a huge hero: I'm still Tyger Pants on the inside. And I hadn't really thought of it as a suicide mission!

Still, I've just got to play along as Victor until dad turns up to the rescue. I quickly look around the room, hoping to see dad suddenly striding through a doorway or something. Come on dad, where are you?

"It is a good plan Victor," says the King, dragging my attention back. I smile, feeling I might be getting the hang of being a hero. "And I can see it succeeding," he continues. My smile broadens to a grin. "Except I don't see how you are going to get to the stronghold before the cavalry, unless you can run faster than a horse."

My shoulders sag. I hadn't thought of that. How can I get to Cretin's stronghold really quickly? Ooo..

"Can't the wizard send me there by magic?" I ask.

"No," says the King. "A wizard can only use each spell he knows once a day and he's already used it to send you to stop Cretin escaping."

"And _we_ ," says Bunsen, stressing the we, "don't want to arrive in the middle of Cretin's growing army on our heads!" He snorts and a spurt of flame shoots from his jaws.

"Well, what about some other spell? Perhaps he could cast a spell on me..." I catch a warning glint in Bunsen's eye, "... _us_ that would make m... _us_ run really fast or..."

"I am never going to let that buffoon cast a spell on me again! Not after the last time!!!" snaps Bunsen in a sudden rage. Hopping up and down, a full-on blast of flame roars out of his mouth and hammers into the table top, lifting him into the air.

There is a scraping of wood against stone as the chairs of those closest to him are hastily shuffled backwards. The blast doesn't last long but as it dies away I can see a puddle of lava lying on the floor through the hole he's just melted in the stone table.

Totally awesome! The heat was incredible and the way the blast of flame thrust Bunsen into the air was like a rocket or a jet plane!

Mmmmm? Like a jet plane?

"Hey! Bunsen why don't you fly us to Cretin's stronghold?"

"Don't be stupid Victor, I'm only ten inches long!" snarls Bunsen.

"Oh yeh."

For the first time the room is silent: I'm trying to think of a plan and everyone, even Mercator, seems to be in a stunned shock. The only noise is the plink, plink of the super-heated molten rock slowly cooling.

If only Bunsen wasn't so small. "Bunsen, if you were bigger, would you be able to fly to the stronghold in time?" I query.

"What, you mean if I was the size of a _normal_ dragon?" Bunsen snarls. "If I was the size of a _proper_ dragon?!"

"Er...y-yes," I stutter, feeling I might have said something wrong.

"Yes! _Real_ dragons can fly like the wind," Bunsen snaps. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I can barely manage a light breeze these days," he mumbles, his head sinking towards the table top, where it disappears through the soot blackened hole.

"Your Kingliness," I say turning to the King. "Could the wizard use his magic to make Bunsen big?"

"I am certain Tim Armadillo can do that," says the King, rising swiftly to his feet. "Gentlemen, I approve Victor's plan! He and Bunsen will go with all haste to the Wizard's Tower and from there fly to Cretin's stronghold in an attempt to shut down the Portal of Infinite Power. Rosmarus, you will mobilise the cavalry and I will lead them to the stronghold to confront Cretin's Werebeast Army. Meanwhile you will command the rest of the army in the defence of the city. Mercator, it falls to you to organise bringing those outside the city within the walls for protection. Do we all understand what we need to do?"

There are various nods from around the room and the King dismisses us.

Bunsen is leading me from the room, presumably in the direction of the Wizard's Tower, when the King calls out, "Victor! Bunsen! You have the most important part to play. The Portal must be shut down. If that fails we are all doomed!"

It's not the most cheery thought to be taking with us.

# Chapter Seven

## Tim Armadillo

Bobbing up and down in front of me, with leathery wings beating the air, Bunsen leads me through a maze of corridors. Eventually we reach a spiral staircase and start to climb. Round and round and up and up we go. Looking out of the small, slit like windows as we pass them, I can see the roofs and courtyards below us getting smaller and smaller the higher we go.

Victor's body is really strong and fit but I'm breathing heavily and just about to start moaning when we finally reach a wooden door at the very top of the stairs. Bunsen raps a claw sharply against the ancient wood and moments later the door swings silently open to reveal a large circular room.

It's hard to see much in the room because most of it is covered in drifts of paper, half-constructed models and plates of unfinished food. So it's kind of like my room at home, except there's a fire blazing in the fireplace and some comfortable looking chairs set before it. Sat in one is an armadillo. That's right – an armadillo. One of those small armour plated mammals that eat ants and bugs and stuff. The only strange thing about this one (other than being sat in a chair) is that it is wearing a long wizard's robe and has a pointy hat on its head. It's only a guess but I'm thinking this might be the wizard, Tim Armadillo.

"Ah Bunsen! So good to see you dear boy. Come in, come in. Take a seat," says Tim, waving at a seat opposite him. "Take the weight off you feet."

Bunsen flutters across the room muttering, "I'm flying so I haven't got any weight on my feet! Not that I have much weight these days anyway, thanks to you!" and plonks himself in one of the chairs.

As I stand awkwardly in the doorway Tim Armadillo waves me in.

"Come on in, Victor! It's not like you to hang back."

As I step into the room, Tim picks up a wand from the arm of his chair and flicks it at the door, which swings shut behind me. Cool trick!

"Here, Victor, have a biscuit," he offers, a tin of biscuits appearing out of nowhere in his paw. My eyes light up; biscuits at last!

"Why haven't I seen you for such a long time, Bunsen?" asks Tim.

"What are you talking about?" hisses Bunsen as I eagerly pluck a biscuit from the tin. "You saw me this morning, when you cast the spell to send Victor to block Cretin's escape."

"Ah yes! Of course! I forget things these days. Did you capture him Victor? Are we safe?" asks Tim, turning to me, his face full of worry.

"Er...no and no," I manage whilst trying not to smile. Behind Tim's back Bunsen is tapping the side of his head with a claw whilst crossing his eyes and hanging his tongue from the side of his mouth.

"Then we must prepare for war!" exclaims Tim, jumping to his feet.

"That's why we're here," grumbles Bunsen. "We need to get to Cretin's stronghold to shut down the Portal before he can get too many werebeasts through from Horrorville."

"We need you to make Bunsen big," I add, plucking another biscuit from the tin that Tim has left lying on the arm of his chair.

"No! We need you to return me to my proper size!" snaps Bunsen, puffing a cloud of black smoke from his nostrils.

"Er...sorry," I say, biscuit halfway to my mouth, "what's going on?"

Bunsen stares at Tim with a sneer on his face. "This old fool was the one who made me so small!" he snaps.

"Bunsen, for heaven's sake, it was only a teeny little mistake! A very small thing."

"Are you trying to be funny?" snarls Bunsen.

"Look, I'm sorry I made you really tiny, instead of extra spiny. It was just a slip of the tongue."

"You made Bunsen small?" I ask, popping the biscuit into my mouth.

"It was just a _little_ mistake..." starts Tim.

"Don't listen to this old fraud!" snaps Bunsen.

Tim scowls but says nothing.

In the uncomfortable silence I take another biscuit. The raisins are really crispy! I pick one from between my teeth and flick it on the floor before saying, "So, you made him small but can you make him big again?"

"Of course! It is a simple spell. If Bunsen had come to see me sooner, rather than sulking, I could have put him back to normal long ago."

"I'm not letting him cast another spell on me," growls Bunsen. But I can see from the hopeful look in his eyes that he will, if it means he can be a proper sized dragon again.

Tim Armadillo obviously feels the same way because he starts bustling about the room, grabbing random bits of stuff. "Just relax there, Bunsen whilst I gather the things I need," he calls over his shoulder.

Brushing crumbs from the front of my leather jacket, I reach up to deal with any crumbs on my chin and recoil from the touch of my beard. Urrgh! That feels weird! I'd forgotten I had a beard.

Reaching over to the tin left on Tim's chair I grab another biscuit. Biting down hard, my tooth crunches against another raisin. They're really hard! Tasty though.

Clearing a small table of debris by sweeping it onto the floor, Tim dumps an armful of stuff onto it. Mumbling under his breath he begins to shuffle the stuff about.

Bunsen's head has sunk down on to his chair seat and he's casting nervous glances at Tim. Trying to distract him from the spell casting I say, "These biscuits are really nice. Why don't you try one?" I finish mine and reach for a fifth. "The raisins are a bit hard though."

"Oh, they're not raisins, they're ants," says Tim, looking up from his spell preparations.

The biscuit drops from my limp fingers back into the tin; I'm suddenly feeling a bit ill. Bunsen seems to have cheered up though; he's grinning at me.

"Right! I think I'm all ready," says Tim waving his hands dramatically at the small table upon which he has arranged an elephant's foot, a magnifying glass, a foot pump and a telescope. "Ready to make you disappear!"

"Er...get bigger," I say. "You mean ready to make you big again!"

"Bigger? Oh! Of course, just my little joke! Victor, come and stand behind me, by the door. Bunsen, can you sit in the middle of the room, please."

We take up our positions and Tim starts chanting and waving his arms around as if he's being attacked by a swarm of wasps. As he chants he points at the elephant's foot and a white light shoots from his finger and blasts the foot into dust. He then moves onto the magnifying glass, foot pump and telescope, repeating the action. All the while he seems to be growing, sort of swelling, like he's absorbing the power of these things. Arms held aloft, head thrown back, his chanting gets louder and faster. I can see that his eyes have rolled back in his head so that only the whites are showing. Weird!

Abruptly, his arms snap down, pointing towards Bunsen, and with a final shouted word, streaks of purple lightning crackle from his hands and smash into the dragon's tiny body.

As the lightning continues to blast into him, Bunsen begins to swell and grow. At the same time, Tim starts to shrink down to his normal size. All the while Bunsen

RRRRROOOOOAAAAARRRRRSSSSS!!

Pretty soon Bunsen is nearly filling the room and the lightning is _still_ pouring into him. Yanking the door open, I'm about to grab Tim by the back of his robe and haul him out of the room before we're crushed, when the lightning finally sizzles to a stop.

Staggering, Tim almost falls but manages to grab the edge of the small table the spell stuff was on to steady himself.

Bunsen _is_ almost crushed, the spikes on his back and head speared into the wooden ceiling and his wings crumpled up against the walls.

"Er...do you think we should have done this outside?" I venture. "How are we going to get Bunsen out of here? He'll never fit though the door!"

"Hmmm, yes, you might be right!" mumbles Tim looking with dismay at the broken remains of his furniture, sticking out from under the vast bulk of Bunsen.

"Ha ha, wizard!" booms Bunsen. "Serves you right!! And with another roar he stretches his wings. The ceiling starts to shake and the thick stone walls begin to crumble. Bunsen surges up with his powerful legs and suddenly the whole top of the tower explodes around him.

# Chapter Eight

## Into the blue

Bunsen stands at the top of the tower, now open to the sky, with his stupendous wings unfurled and his neck stretched high, RRRROOOOOAAAAARRRRRING at the sky!!

As the dust and rubble showering down on Tim and me begins to clear he rumbles, "Come Victor, climb aboard and we will fly like the wind to destroy Cretin the Cruel."

I gaze up at Bunsen's magnificence. Towering above me, lazily flapping his humungous wings to keep his balance as his claws rake at the stone of the tower top, he is a totally awe inspiring sight. Truly awefull.

Quickly, using Bunsen's scales like a ladder, I scramble up his foreleg and across his shoulder. It would be a lot easier without the sword hanging at my hip, which keeps getting tangled between my legs but I soon find myself a seat, wedged between his neck and the thick mass of muscle that forms the place where his wings join to his body.

"Tim, I take back my words. You are not such a fool as I believed," Bunsen bellows at Tim, who is sat in a pile of smashed stone, his hat crumpled beneath him.

"I'm not so sure," grumbles Tim, brushing dust and small chunks of stone from his armour plated head. "Look at my room!"

"I wish I had come back to you earlier rather than sulking! But I'm afraid we must leave you to clear up this mess. There's no time to lose!"

"Wait!" shouts Tim, scrambling to his paws. Grabbing his battered hat from the floor he rams it on his head. "You must take me with you. If you hope to succeed you'll need a wizard!"

"Hummmph! Well quickly then. Climb up." snorts Bunsen.

"I'll just gather a few things," says Tim, starting to scrabble about through the wreckage, tossing bits of crushed furniture aside. "I'll need my staff and some scrolls. Oh, and my magic rings..."

"There's no time for that!" snaps Bunsen. Clamping his teeth into the back of Tim's robe he hoists him into the air and plonks him, flailing and kicking, behind me.

Then the whole world seems to sway as the huge muscles in Bunsen's back legs bunch and, with a surge that leaves my stomach behind, he thrusts us skywards, great wings beating against the air.

I grab at the edges of Bunsen's scales, frantically trying to keep my seat. It would be a lot easier if Tim wasn't clutching onto my sword belt with one paw. I glance over my shoulder to see him stretched out behind me, flapping like a flag on a pole, with his other paw clasping his hat to his head.

Below us is the shattered tower, raining stone and rubble down onto the rest of the palace. And spread out beyond the palace is a sizable city.

I only have a second to take this in before we slow in our upward flight and seem to come to a hanging stop.

My stomach has just managed to catch up when we tip forward and Bunsen plunges towards the city below us, neck and tail arrow straight and wings tight to his sides.

The air rushes past so fast it feels like my eyelids are being ripped off and all I can hear is my scream, "AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHH!!"

I'm gripping Bunsen's scales so hard now the sharp edges are cutting into my hands. I can't feel any pain but I can see little trickles of blood being pushed across the back of my hands in the rushing air, a bit like those paintings you do as a kid by blowing at a blob of paint through a straw.

I'm amazed I even notice such a tiny detail when the world is rising up to splatter me to a pulp. But my head does seem to be dealing with stuff quite fast, like it's trying to get as much out of life as possible before I go splat.

I'm still screaming, and I think Tim is also having a go, but it's like a background noise as my head tries to sorts out what's going on.

When we started to fall we were so high up I could see the whole city below us. It looked like a map or maybe a birds' eye view model: lots of brown wiggling lines, all criss-crossing each other, with the spaces between them crammed with grey blocks and the odd green patch. There was a blue line swished roughly through the middle of it that stretched beyond the city walls, out into the countryside.

In moments I couldn't see the countryside any more as the city rushed up to meet us.

Soon I could easily make out that the blue line was a river and the brown lines were muddy streets.

Seconds later the roofs of individual building emerged out of the blocks of grey and I could pick out trees and bushes in the green patches.

Now I can see one of the grey patches transforming into a busy marketplace as it grows larger and larger right before us.

There are markets stalls filled with colour, carts piled with goods and crowds of people milling about.

As we zoom down upon them people look up in surprise. Their surprise instantly turns to fear and they start to scatter, pushing past each other, dashing for the safety of the streets leading off of the marketplace or diving under stalls and carts.

My gaze locks with one bloke who is frozen in terror. His head is thrown back, his eyes bulging at the rapidly approaching dragon and his mouth wide as he screams.

My own screaming cuts back in as we are about to splat. "AAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHH!!"

With an ear pounding thwapping noise, like the noise you get when you flick a wet towel at someone (but a million times louder and without the OW!), Bunsen thrusts his wings out. There's an horrendous rushing, ripping noise as the air batters against them and I feel like I'm being crushed into Bunsen's back as he swoops out of his dive.

For a second or so we level out, just a couple of metres above the ground. The screaming bloke is knocked to the ground by the turbulent air we create as we rush past. Glancing over my shoulder, past Tim's wide eyed grimace of terror, I can see that our wake is so strong it's dragging stalls and carts to bash together behind us. Anyone who has ever stood on an underground railway platform when a train has sped past and felt the pull of the air as it disappears down the tunnel will have some idea of what I mean. But it would be, like, a train for giants going at supersonic speed.

With tiny flicks of his wings, Bunsen dodges obstacles as they flash towards us and then we're surging upwards into the sky, away from the marketplace.

And straight towards a bell tower!

Bunsen lets out a RRRROOOOAAARRRR, rolls, tipping us upside-down for a split second, and swerves by the tower, just clipping the top with one claw.

My scream of terror has transformed into a WOOOOOOHOOOOOO!! of joy. I feel every part of my body tingling and want to jump up and down and race around (but don't, obviously). There's the biggest grin ever on my face and even though it hurts I can't stop it. That was the most awesome ride ever! No rollercoaster or death drop or gyro tower is ever going to top that!

If this is what librarians get up to at work maybe they're not such a bunch of boring geeks after all!

# Chapter Nine

## What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Bunsen really does fly like the wind. At least he does now he's stopped messing around and we're flying nice and straight and level. We zip over woods, lakes and farmland, the people and horses working the fields looking like tiny plastic models. Far to my left I can see the purple-grey bulk of a range of mountains and before us, stretching across the horizon, is a thin blue line.

"What's that?" I holler, the rush of air snatching my words away. I risk releasing one hand from Bunsen's scales and point at the rapidly broadening blue line.

"That, dear Victor, is the sea. Here, would you like a cup of tea?" shouts Tim, tapping me on the shoulder and offering me, well, a cup of tea. I don't know where he got that from! Must have magicked it up. I wonder if he's going to offer me an in-flight meal?

"Er...thanks!" I mumble, taking the tea with my free hand. I'm not sure I want to try magic tea but it seems rude to refuse it. I cautiously raise the cup to my lips but the rushing air whips the surface of the tea, dashing it into my face. Luckily it's not too hot.

"Why are we heading to the sea?" I splutter, lowering the cup and sneakily tipping the tea away.

"I believe it is where Cretin has stronghold." bellows Tim. "And will you please stop pouring tea down my leg!"

"Er...sorry! I spilt it."

"The wizard is correct," booms Bunsen. "Cretin's base is an old fort right on the coast. He's always had a few of his werebeasts with him but most of his army has been stuck in Horrorville."

"Where is this Horrorville place?" I yell. "It doesn't sound very nice."

"I don't really know," admits Bunsen. "It's a bit beyond my understanding. But the Portal of Infinite Power can open a doorway to anywhere, whether we understand where it is or not."

"It might be beyond _his_ understanding," says Tim smugly, dabbing at his leg with the corner of his robe, "but Horrorville is just another dimension."

"What's another dimension?" I shout.

"It's another reality far, far away. Think of it as another world," explains Tim.

"So it's, like, another planet or something?" I ask, my mind instantly conjuring images of Star Wars, in a galaxy far, far away.

"Mmmm?" Tim muses. "Maybe more like stepping into a different story. Although Horrorville probably wouldn't be the sort of story you would want to be a part of!"

Stepping into another story? Isn't that what dad said I've done? That means I'm in another dimension doesn't it? Another reality, Tim says? But if it is another 'reality' then it can't just be a story, it must be real – that's what the word means, surely. It's certainly real to Bunsen and Tim. Feeling the sting of the shallow cuts on my hands caused by gripping Bunsen's scales too tightly I look down at the dried blood on them: it feels pretty real to me too!

And what about all the people in the other dimensions, or stories? They must all think that they're real too. What if my 'real' life back at home is all a story? Is there some intergalactic library somewhere with zillions of books each with their own story, their own reality? Am I just a character in a book? Is everyone?

It's all just too ridiculous to think about \- so I don't.

I haven't got time anyway! We're already approaching the coast. I can see the fort that Bunsen said is Cretin's stronghold. Except that the fort looks more like a massive, medieval style castle. It's roughly square with a high round tower at each corner and a massive gatehouse. Even from a distance I can tell that the walls are enormous. It looks impenetrable.

At least, it would be to someone attacking from the ground. Hopefully it won't be a problem for a vast, fire breathing, flying dragon. Maybe I should check.

Leaning forward against Bunsen's neck I shout, "What's the plan, Bunsen?"

"I will circle around and we'll attack from the seaward side. They won't be expecting that."

We fly in a wide circle, out over the sea, and then turn to race towards the fort.

As we rush closer I realise I haven't really thought this through. In my head it had been a sort of, sneak in and grab the Portal whilst no one was looking. Not a wild attack on a fortified castle!

"What are we going to do when we get there Bunsen?" I holler into the wind.

"Do, Victor? Why, now I'm my normal size again I will just fly over their puny walls, land in the courtyard and blast everyone into ashes!"

Tim and I are looking at the small hairy figures beginning to rush around from the landward walls to the wall facing the sea. It seems we have been spotted. The gathering figures seem to have a whole lot of pointy things with them. From this distance they look the size of pins but I'm pretty sure they aren't a miniature sewing club. Bunsen may be huge but landing amongst a lot of pointy swords and spears is still going to be risky.

"Bunsen you may think there is little danger but I will cast a I'll cast a spell to make you invincible," yells Tim, obviously thinking the same as me.

"No need for that! I'll just sit on them!" rumbles Bunsen with a chuckle.

But Tim is already lost in concentration, mumbling chants under his breath and fumbling spell ingredients from the pockets of his robes.

The figures on the walls are much larger now. The werewolves and werebears are easily recognisable and there are some smaller furry shapes that could be wererats and wererabbits. They're waving spears and swords and pikes and all sorts of other dangerous looking things at us.

As we rush to meet them my legs are stretched painfully wide apart as Bunsen sucks in a deep breath. I'm just tensing, anticipating a blast of flame to clear the walls of pesky furry beasts, when Tim shouts the last words of his spell, "...make Bunsen totally miniscule!!"

There's a tiny pause and then he shouts, panic in his voice, "No! No! I meant totally invincible!!"

With a loud sucking sort of a thud noise, like a pop in reverse (except that would still be pop) Tim and I suddenly find ourselves sat astride a ten inch long dragon spurting a white hot, but tiny, jet of flame.

With a mingled, "AAAARRRRGGGHHH!!" we plummet out of the sky.

# Chapter Ten

## Into the Deeper Blue

Bunsen flames with fury all the way down but his rage is extinguished with a FFTTIZZZZ when we hit the sea.

The icy water smacks me hard and blasts the air out of my lungs. This is majorly bad because the fall has driven us some way under the water.

My body desperately wants to suck in a breath. I force it not to but it isn't easy: my mind is already busy with that inner voice, shouting unhelpful things like, HELP and AIR and NEED and FREEZING and ARRGGHH!

I have to get to the surface! But which way is up? The air dragged under the water with us has formed a mass of swirling bubbles all around, blocking my vision and making me disorientated.

My legs just want to kick out and get me moving. I force them to wait. I need to work out which way they should kick!

There's a crushing pressure forming at the top of my throat: if I don't breath soon I think I'm going to vomit. I swallow hard and the pressure eases for a moment.

The bubbles have stopped swirling around. They're starting to stream in one direction now. Bubbles float to the surface don't they? So that must be up!

My mind is starting to spin as I finally let my legs kick out. Making up for lost time they kick in a frenzy and I'm soon streaking in the same direction as the bubbles.

Suddenly Tim emerges out of the bubbles before me, swimming hard in the opposite direction. My mind is a washing machine of churning images and words now but I instinctively reach out and grab the collar of his robe as he goes by and drag him behind me.

My mind is starting to let go. The body's need for breath is too hard to hold back. But the water is brightening! I can see the rippled, silvery, almost mirror like, underside of the surface. It's getting brighter and brighter. Or is my mind getting whiter and whiter? It's too late! Swallowing is not holding back the need to retch. My mind is shutting down and my body's impulse to breathe is taking over...

Bursting through the surface I gasp in a huge breath of air GGUUUHHAAAAWWWW!!

Coughing and spluttering I try to drag air into my lungs. Luckily my legs are still working on automatic, kicking downwards keeping my head mostly above water.

As I suck in great gulps of air my mind begins to clear and I become more aware of other things, like how heavy these leather clothes and weapons are! Luckily I'm a strong swimmer but I'm not going to be able to keep my head out of the water for much longer.

Tim is also struggling, weighed down by his robes. But Bunsen is already back in the air, flapping a few inches above Tim and shouting at him.

"You bungling fool! Call yourself a wizard! More like a hazard! I knew I shouldn't have brought you along! How are we going to defeat Cretin now! The Realm will be destroyed and it will be all your fault!!"

Bunsen is right, how are we going to defeat Cretin without a huge dragon on our side?

"Sorry Bunsen...the words were...muddled in...my head," Tim splutters between ragged deep breaths.

"Idiot!!" storms Bunsen and flaps off towards the shore.

Tim and I swim in the same direction. Fortunately it's not too far away and before long we are clambering out of the water onto the jagged rocks at the base of a cliff. It is a good thing the sea is calm today or the waves would have smashed us to pieces against them.

Slumped on a rock, huffing and puffing trying to get my breath back, I look about for Bunsen. At first I can't see him anywhere but then a flash of green catches my attention. He's fluttering around, about ten metres up the cliff face that stands between us and Cretin's stronghold, high above.

Nudging a gasping Tim, I point wordlessly at Bunsen. We haul ourselves up and scramble across the rocks, trying not to slip into the rock pools, to a spot below him.

"What have you found?" I shout up.

Bunsen drops down to us and lands on a rock. He glares at Tim but most of his anger seems to have cooled.

"Idiot!" he snarls.

"Sorry Bunsen! I hope that we can still be friends?"

Bunsen snorts and a cloud of black smoke puffs out of his nostrils. "We'll see about that if we get out of this alive!"

There's an uncomfortable silence.

"Can't you just make me big again?" Bunsen mumbles.

"No. We left my tower before I had a chance to collect the things I would need," says Tim with an apologetic smile.

"Idiot!" snaps Bunsen.

Tim's apologetic smile disappears, replaced by a frown.

"Of course if you hadn't snatched me up and leapt from the tower at such speed I might have brought the things I'd need," he hisses.

"What? So suddenly it's my fault I'm tiny again is it?" snarls Bunsen, flames curling around his bared teeth.

I decide to step in before things get any worse, "Tim, is there _any_ spell you could cast that would help?"

Tim rootles about in his pockets pulling out bits of string, frog legs, bags of soggy powder, jars of goo and the like. After a moment's thought he says, "I could cast a spell to make you strong..."

"Pah! Knowing you, you'd make me pong!!" snaps Bunsen.

Tim thrusts the spell ingredients back into his pockets and turns on Bunsen. "Well that would be a waste of effort; you already stink of dragon slime!" he spits with a sneer.

Sighing I turn to watch the sun set over the sea.

"Why you little armoured rat! I may be small again but I can still roast you in your shell!!" I hear Bunsen shout as he jumps up and down on his rock.

It's funny, you'd think there would be a lot of steam and hissing and stuff when the sun sank into the sea. But the sky just gets more and more orangey red and then starts to turn a darker and darker blue.

"Armoured rat? That's good coming from you, you puny fire breathing bat!" Tim snarls in the background of my thoughts.

Dark blue! That means it will be dark soon. The day is nearly over and with each passing moment there will be more werebeasts filling the castle!

# Chapter Eleven

## Clocked In

"Stop arguing you two!" I snap. "The more time we waste the more werebeasts Cretin will be able to bring through the Portal!"

Bunsen and Tim stutter into silence mid curse.

"We have to get into the castle and stop him _now_! We don't have time for you two to snipe at each other. We have to work as a team!"

I'm surprised at my own outburst but it seems to have had the right effect.

"What should we do then Victor?" mumbles Bunsen.

"Firstly you two should apologise to each other," I snap, angry that this stupid squabble is getting in the way of doing things. I have a nasty feeling that this is probably how my mum feels whenever she has to pull Sandy and me apart when we're fighting.

"Bunsen, you have said some nasty things to Tim who was just trying to help," I continue. Tim sneers at Bunsen, looking smug. Bunsen scowls.

"And Tim, you have been an idiot!" It's Tim's turn to scowl now as Bunsen roars with laughter.

The laughter breaks the tension though and soon Tim and I are giggling too.

As the laughter subsides we all look at each other a little sheepishly, stupid grins on our faces.

"So, what _are_ we going to do?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"I found a cave entrance up there," says Bunsen, waving a wingtip up at the cliff face. "My guess is that it must lead up into the castle somehow because it's been blocked off with an iron grating."

"Great, then we could sneak in through there," I say moving towards the cliff. "All we need to do is climb up this cliff somehow," I mumble to myself, looking for handholds.

"How are we going to sneak in if the entrance is barred?" points out Tim.

"Couldn't you..." I wiggle my fingers at Tim, acting out the casting of a spell.

"I don't think waving at it will do much good," says Tim with a frown.

"No, I meant a spell..."

"I could blast it with a fireball," Tim suggests, rubbing at his chin.

Fire! I think back to the blast of flame from Bunsen that melted a hole in the stone table at the War Council all those days ago. Days ago? I think about that and decided it might actually only be a couple of hours. It just feels like days.

"Bunsen, couldn't you use your flames and melt a hole in the bars?" I ask.

"I should have thought of that!" Bunsen exclaims as he leaps into the air and starts flapping towards the cave. "I guess I've been sulking too much about being small again," he calls down.

As I start climbing the cliff towards the cave, Tim begins mumbling another spell.

The cliff face has loads of good hand and footholds and Victor's body is really strong so I'm soon climbing quickly to the background noise of roaring flames from above. I'm about halfway to the cave, beginning to huff and puff a bit, when Tim floats past with a smug grin on his face.

When I drag myself up the last few inches to the cave entrance Tim and Bunsen are stood waiting for what is left of the melted grating and the puddles of molten metal to cool down a bit before getting too close. The metal turns from white, to red to blackened grey and we step past the ruined grating into the cave, being careful where we put our feet/paws. It's definitely not a time to be jumping in puddles!

With Bunsen spluttering flames to light the way, we set off into the depths, to search for a way up into the stronghold.

Squeezing through tight gaps and often having to crawl along damp passages, we make our way slowly upwards through the rock. I find myself breathing quite heavily and my heart is racing, even though the actual effort I'm putting in isn't that much. I'm really glad I'm not alone: it feels like I'm being squashed in on all sides by the rock and it's only seeing Tim and Bunsen walking along freely that persuades me I'm not.

When we eventually emerge through a crumbled wall into a small rectangular room, it feels like a heavy rucksack that I hadn't realised I was carrying is lifted from my back. I straighten up and stretch as I look around the room. There are a couple of dusty wooden boxes and an old barrel stacked in one corner.

"Must be a cellar under the stronghold," mumbles Bunsen. "We need to find a way up to the higher levels."

"Yes," agrees Tim. "Cretin will need quite a lot of space to use the Portal; probably a large hall or a courtyard. That's what we need to look for."

Bunsen leading the way with his flaming breath, we exit through a doorway into a dank corridor and move on up a flight of steps, which emerge onto another corridor running to our left and right.

"Which way?" I whisper.

Bunsen and Tim shrug, having no more idea than me, so we set off to the right at a trot/flutter.

There are no windows here so I've no way of telling how long it is since I watched the sun set. How long were we climbing up through the rock? How many werebeasts has Cretin brought through the Portal? Are we already too late?

Lost as I am in my thoughts I don't notice Bunsen has stopped, hovering at head height before me, and I run straight into him, getting a face full of spiky dragon tail.

"OW!"

When I stagger back, rubbing my forehead where a spike has impaled me, I realise why Bunsen has stopped: we've blundered straight into a room full of crazed looking werebeasts!

"Er...what do we do?" I ask, starting to back away.

"Well," says Bunsen over his shoulder, as he does some nifty backwards flapping whilst trying not to take his eyes off of the enemy, "taking everything into consideration...weighing up the odds...looking at our strengths and weaknesses and those of our enemy... I think the best thing we can do is...RUN!!"

So that's what we do. Or at least Tim and I do. Bunsen streaks past us in the air, wings flapping wildly.

We flash past the doorway we came through on the way up and hurtle on down the corridor, the sound of thundering paws and roaring, howling, squeaking battle cries close behind.

Skidding around a corner a hurled knife zips past my face and clatters from the stone wall.

Eyes bulging, we hurtle down the corridor only to see a seething mass of werebeasts charging the other way! There's a door to our right! I grab the handle, twist and yank the door open. At least I try to but it's locked!

"Push it you idiot!" shouts Bunsen, bashing into the door.

It bursts open and we stumble in, turn and slam the door shut behind us.

"Blast! There's no lock!" snarls Bunsen.

"Stand back! I'll cast a locking spell," shouts Tim. "No matter who might bash and knock, seal this door with a mighty clock!"

"No wait! Lock!!"

There's a flash of light that makes my eyes sting and a huge grandfather clock appears in front of the door. At the same moment there is a colossal thump from the other side, quickly followed by a muffled curse. I guess someone tried to shoulder barge the door and wasn't expecting it to be blocked.

"Oh well, not exactly locked but I think it's done the trick," says Tim, sounding quite pleased with himself.

A slow but thunderous clapping echoes around the room. "Oh yes," grates a familiar voice, "well done. But I think you might find you have _clocked_ yourselves _in_! Howhowhowhowhowllll!!"

# Chapter Twelve

## Werebeast Army

Like some weird clockwork toy, Bunsen, Tim and I slowly turn around in perfect time with each other and stare wide eyed at the scene before us. Still in perfect synchronism we take an instinctive step back in fear and surprise.

When we charged into the room we were so keen to get the door shut and locked that we didn't even glance at what was inside it. It's more of a hall than a room: grey stone walls and a high, vaulted, wooden ceiling, like the inside of a church. But what has us wide eyed is the sight of Cretin the Cruel standing beside a large shining disk of light which is hovering upright, a few inches above the floor. Beside it sits the Portal of Infinite Power.

Actually, it's amazing that it's this sight that catches our eyes and not the twenty or so werebeasts standing menacingly in front of it. It's probably because of the colourful shimmer the shining disk of light makes each time another werebeast steps through and joins the crowd.

Cretin stops clapping and sneers at us. "Look lads," he growls to the werebeasts, "it's Loser the Loser." This poor joke is greeted with growling laughter. "I thought I'd killed you! Seems you're harder to kill than I realised. Good! With my stronghold full of werebeasts and any army the Fantasy Realm can raise far away, I'm not in such a rush as when we last met. I can take my time and slice you up bit by bit!"

The werebeasts begin to howl and dribble with excitement. It goes on for some time. Meanwhile the disk of light shimmers every few seconds as another werebeast emerges from it.

When they calm down, Cretin continues, "And who are these other great heroes? Why it's Bite-size Bunsen and is that...yes it is...it's Dim...Dim Armatillo."

"Actually it's Tim, " says Tim, "Tim Armadillo.

"Shhh!" I hiss, as the disk of light shimmers again as another werebeast steps through. "He's trying to be funny. Ignore it. He's a bully: the more you moan the more he'll tease and poke fun."

"Poke fun! I'll poke him if he's not careful - with a sharpened stick!" snarls Bunsen, totally ignoring my advice. "Bite-size Bunsen!" he shouts, hopping up and down in rage. "You'll regret that when you feel the size of my bite!!"

"Howhowhowhowhowllll!! I've got fleas that can give me a bigger bite than you, likkle ikkle Bunsen," Cretin says in a voice you might use when talking to a baby. The slowly growing mass of werebeasts howl, growl and squeak in laughter, slowly working themselves up into a frenzy.

"Yeh that's right, have a good laugh, Cretin!" shouts Bunsen above the din. "But at least when I'm my normal size and shape I'm not a flea ridden mangy mutt you...you...bottom sniffer!!"

The disk of light shimmers once more and a werebear shambles through and joins the back of the throng.

"At least I'm tall enough to sniff a bottom, squirt!" Cretin hurls back.

"Squirt! I'll..."

"Bunsen, shut up!" I snap. "He's trying to stall us so more werebeasts can come through the doorway."

As if to prove my point the disk of light shimmers again and a wererat scuttles through.

Bunsen scowls at me but shuts his jaw.

"We need to close that doorway quickly, before the room is jammed to the roof with werebeasts," I hiss at Bunsen and Dim, sorry, Tim.

"Easily said," says Bunsen, "but there's a whole lot of fur and snarling teeth between us and the Portal!"

It's a good point. We can't fight our way through that lot!

The disk of light shimmers again and a wererabbit hops through.

But we have to!

"Bunsen," I hiss, "we have to use your size to our advantage."

Bunsen frowns at me. "What is this, Bash Bunsen Day? I've had enough teasing about my size from Cretin without you joining in!"

"No! Listen! You're really small..."

"Right, that's it..." begins Bunsen but I ignore him and carry on.

"...so you'll be really hard hit or catch. You can fly over the werebeasts and shut down the doorway whilst Tim and I distract them."

Bunsen ponders this whilst another werebeast steps into the room. Cretin is frowning at us, starting to realise that we might be up to something.

"It's a good plan," Bunsen says with a frown, "but I don't know how to shut the doorway down: I'm not a wizard."

"Oh, that's easy!" says Tim. Then he leans down and whispers something in Bunsen's ear.

Bunsen grins and launches himself into the air just as Cretin shouts, "Get them!"

The werebeasts surge forward, a mass of muscle, fur and snarling jaws. The clashing sounds of pounding paws, scraping claws and howls and roars hits me and I stumble back.

But then my body takes over. My sword hisses from its scabbard and sweeps before me, keeping the charging horde away. My other hand releases a knife from the bandolier strapped across my body and stabs out, cutting into a werewolf's arm. He howls in pain and steps back into the mob but is instantly replaced by a snarling wererat.

"Tim, get behind me!" I shout, bringing my sword down to block a thrust from a werebear that would have skewered him where he stood. Tim darts behind me muttering and waving his arms about. Hopefully he's casting a spell and hasn't just gone totally mental on me.

Victor is magnificent! His feet move left and right, back and forward, keeping his body in perfect balance as he cuts, thrusts and blocks with sword and knife. It feels weird sitting in my head watching it all happen but, remembering what happened before, I resist the urge to take control.

Suddenly Tim shouts from behind me, "Victor, get down!"

I hit the floor just as Tim finishes his spell.

"Monstrous beasts from hell so deep, I'll send you all to leap!" he shouts, and a flash of light streaks over my head, striking the snarling mass of werebeasts.

As I scramble back to my feet all the werebeasts start to leap about the room, uncontrollably. The rabbits shoot off like rockets, crashing into the vaulted wooden ceiling ten metres above us. I guess they're naturally leapy anyway. They're not so bouncy when they crash, unconscious, back to the hard stone floor though.

"No...I said _sleep_! I'm sure I did!" says Tim.

"It doesn't matter," I say, lowering the tip of my sword to the floor. "It's done the trick. The wererabbits are knocked out and the others can't fight us whilst they're leaping about."

Although they snarl and slash frantically with their claws the other werebeasts can't get us if we keep dodging them as they land and spring back up into the air again.

I'm just beginning to think things might be going our way when there's a loud thud from behind us making the door rattle and the grandfather clock, and my heart, lurch. I'd forgotten about the werebeasts on the other side of the door! For all we know there may be hundreds, or even thousands of them. And it sounds like they've found something to use as a battering ram!

At the same moment a flying weresheep slams into Bunsen, knocking him out of the air. He lands heavily but scrambles to his feet, right in the middle of the madly leaping werebeasts, like a mouse on a bouncy castle at a kid's party.

Seeing his werebeasts either comatose on the cold stone floor or leaping around helplessly, Cretin howls with anger and charges towards Tim and me, batting aside wererats and kicking unconscious wererabbits out of his way as if they're cuddly toys.

Ducking under a wererabbit that Cretin has booted at my head, I bring my sword back up into a defensive position in front of me and brace for his attack. With Victor's fighting skills I feel confident and I take a moment to glance over to see how Bunsen is doing. He's skipping and dodging about, making slow progress towards the Portal of Infinite Power. Luckily he's so small he's a hard target to land on.

Suddenly Cretin is upon me!

How did he move so quickly?

Almost faster than my eye can follow, his massive arm lashes out, muscles bulging, trying to rip his claws across my face. Reflexively my sword flashes up to block the attack but his other hand is already slashing towards me.

Cretin is too fast!

I duck and roll forwards on my shoulder to come up behind him. In a panic I swing the sword at his thickly furred back. It's a clumsy blow and I only hit him with the flat of the blade. In my panic I must have taken control of Victor's body again!

The blow makes Cretin stumble but he recovers quickly. Crouching down, he whirls around with lightning speed, sweeping one leg out in a circle, low to the floor and knocks my legs from under me. I land on my back, the air exploding from my lungs leaving me gasping. My sword flies from my hand and I hear it clatter away across the stone floor.

With a howl of glee Cretin leaps upon me, clawed hands stretched like a striking hawk's talons and slathering jaw wide open, ready to tear out my throat.

# Chapter Thirteen

## It runs on what?

All I can see is those slathering jaws descending towards my face. My mind is screaming in horror. Or is that my mouth? Strange to be questioning it at a time like this.

Fortunately Victor's body seems to have regained control for my hands are scrabbling at the bandolier of knives. My fingers wrap around a handle and yank a knife clear of its sheath. Just before Cretin's weight comes hammering down onto me my hand turns the knife point outwards.

With a howl of shock and pain Cretin staggers to his feet, the knife handle jutting from his chest right where his heart is. Eyes wide with disbelief, his hands reach up to touch the handle as if to check it's real. He sways, totters sideways and then slumps to his knees.

I've killed him!

I didn't mean to kill him! It all happened so fast! I didn't know what was going on! And anyway, he was going to kill me, right?

I don't know how to feel.

I feel sick, yet relieved.

I feel like there is a weight crushing my chest, but lightness in my heart.

I feel terrible, but powerful.

I feel exhausted, but elated.

But mostly I feel shocked and horrified when Cretin pulls the knife from his chest and casually tosses it aside to skitter across the cold stone floor.

Before I can react he grabs my wrist and yanks me towards him. I can feel the heat and smell the rancid stench of his breath as he growls in my face, "Victor, don't look so surprised. You know as well as I that only a _silver_ weapon can harm a werewolf."

Well Victor probably does but I don't! Now I just feel angry!!

I struggle in his iron grasp but he is too strong, even for Victor, and I'm held fast.

His jaws open wide and stretch towards my throat.

They're about to snap shut and I close my eyes in terror.

Whamm-oof-boing!!

His iron grasp is suddenly broken and I tumble backwards to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse the shaggy werebear that has flattened him, sproing from Cretin's back as if it's a hairy trampoline.

Cretin is tough though. In moments he rolls back to his feet and charges at me, all snarling teeth and saliva, whilst I dodge between bouncing beasts and scramble over unconscious wererabbits, trying desperately to find my sword.

He's right behind me, I can feel his fetid breath on my neck! I've run out of room! I'm back at the grandfather clock blocking the door. I turn to face him. Suddenly the light in the room dims causing us both look about, wondering what's happened. The shining disk of light is gone! Bunsen has managed to close the doorway!

"What have you done to the Portal of Infinite Power you fool!" Cretin snarls at Bunsen.

"Hah! Don't call me a fool, Cretin!" shouts Bunsen, waving some small cylinders he has clutched in his claws at him. "I might be small but I can still outwit you, dog breath. You'll never get it to work now: I've taken the batteries out!"

Cretin howls in rage and thunders across the hall after him.

"Batteries!" I mumble incredulously. "It runs on batteries?"

"Of course," says Tim, arriving at my side. "It's got to run on something. You didn't expect it to be clockwork did you?"

"But it's the Portal of _Infinite_ Power! It can't run on batteries! Surely it runs on something super powerful, like magic."

"True, magic is very powerful," says Tim, "but it can be risky. One slip of the tongue and it all goes pong!"

Dodging a s-leaping werewolf I stumble back into the grandfather clock 'locking' the door behind us. He might have a point.

But there's no more time to think about it now. There's another echoing thud from the door and the massive grandfather clock jerks forward and bashes into me.

Straining hard I push back against the grandfather clock and just about manage to stop it toppling over and squashing me flat. But the door has been smashed open a couple of inches. A gnarly trotter-like hand appears through the gap, trying to force it open further.

Despite the danger I can't help wondering if the trotter-hand belongs to a werepig and what it looks like. Perhaps not like the cheerful Three Little Pigs image that first jumped into my head – probably more like a horrible goblin from the Hobbit.

Tim and I look at each other and then shoulder charge the door. There's a squeal from the other side and the trotter disappears. We slam into the door again and it bangs shut. But it won't take them long to ram it open again.

But right now things seem quiet around Tim and me so I take a moment to catch up on what is happening: I'm trapped in a room in a castle in a crazy place/land/story/dimension trying to stop a mental werewolf (that is charging around chasing a tiny ten inch dragon) from bringing an army of werebeasts from _another_ crazy place/land/story/dimension (part of which is leaping around the room because of the miscast spell of an armadillo) by shutting down the Portal of Infinite Power (which apparently runs on batteries). There's another load of werebeasts trying to break down the door behind me and I've just come within a bouncing bear of death.

And I'm meant to be having a day of work experience at the library; the really boring, but exceptionally safe, library! At least, that's how I've always thought about it, if I've thought about it at all. But then I've always thought dad's job as a librarian was really boring and exceptionally safe. Now it seems exactly the opposite, if this is what he gets up to every day. Maybe dad does have a cool job after all! Possibly even frosty.

"Catch!!"

Yanked out of my daydream I react instinctively and snatch the hurled batteries out of the air. Cretin, who must have finally caught up with Bunsen, tosses him aside and comes after me.

I lob the batteries to Tim like a hot potato and Cretin swerves towards him. And Tim chucks them back to Bunsen. Now we're playing Wolfie in the Middle whilst leaping werebeasts bounce all around us!

This is all too majorly weird. I've got to do something to stop it. But what? Well, if we could capture Cretin it would be a start. Maybe then the other werewolves will give up. But how?

Dodging a wererat I stretch for the batteries that are flying towards me again, flashing silver as they spin in the air.

Silver! Cretin said he can only be harmed with a silver weapon. If I had a silver weapon maybe I could capture Cretin!

"Tim, can you turn one of these knives to silver?" I shout as I taunt Cretin with the batteries.

"I do know a spell that would do it," he replies as he circles around into a position where I can toss the batteries to him. "But so far my spells haven't gone very well!"

"Don't worry," I say, throwing the batteries in his direction, "I can't think of anything that sounds like silver, so you can't get it muddled up!"

With a frown he immediately flings the batteries on to Bunsen. Then his brow clears and he beams at me.

"Victor my boy, I think you're right! Hold your knife up high where I can see it."

I hold up the knife whilst watching Bunsen flapping around Cretin's head.

"Weird and mystic forces entwine,

Into this transmuting spell of mine,

Even though it doesn't rhyme,

Turn Victor to silver!

No, no, I meant his blade! Turn his blade to silver!"

Oops! I didn't see _that_ coming. A streak of light slams into me, momentarily blinding me. When my sight clears I'm no longer blind – I'm bling! Head to toe silver!

# Chapter Fourteen

## Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

I stare at my silver hand in horror and try to flex my fingers. Phew! They move! At least I'm not _solid_ silver!

I experiment with a step forward. The pounding weight of my foot sends cracks splintering out through the stone floor like strikes of lightning as it crashes down. Ah! Maybe I _am_ solid silver!

I'm kind of revolted but thrilled and energised at the same time. Something deep inside is telling me that this is awful: I've been turned into a freak! But right now it feels awefull: I'm alive with excitement and fired with the chance to tackle Cretin and end this thing.

Cretin is busy trying to catch the battery wielding Bunsen as I stamp across the floor straight towards him, leaving cracked and slightly indented footprints behind me in the stone floor. Fortunately I don't have to waste time dodging the werebeasts anymore; they just bounce off me like balloons.

Cretin has managed to trap Bunsen in a corner or at least he thinks he has until Bunsen drops to the floor and scuttles between his legs. He turns in a rage, shouting some interesting but unrepeatable curses. They stop mid flow when he sees me stomping towards him.

I throw my arms out wide and now it's him trapped in the corner. There's a look of horrified amazement on his face but still he slashes out with his hand, lightning fast, to rake his claws at my face. But they just scritch and skate across my metallic surface doing me no harm at all, whilst the mere touch of my silver skin makes him jerk back, gasping in pain.

Closing in I grasp him in a bear hug, clasping his arms to his side. Howling and whining he struggles against my unbreakable metallic grip but after a few seconds my silver touch sends him limp with weakness.

Ha ha! I've captured him!

Although what I'm going to do with him I don't know. Maybe I should ask Tim to cast a spell to bind him up. No! Tim will probably _grind_ him up. That will be too messy.

As I ponder the problem my eyes track a werebear as it zooms through the air. I'm still not sure what we're going to do about all these leaping werebeasts either.

Movement from the floor drags my eyes from the leaping werebear and I notice that some of the wererabbits are starting to come around from their unconscious state and are scrambling to their paws.

A resounding thump has my eyes flitting in alarm to look at the other side of the room: the werebeasts outside are still trying to smash down the door.

"Howowowowll!" laughs Cretin. "You can't defeat us all Victor! One of us will get the batteries back. This time you've lost. Loser!"

He's right. I can't grapple everyone! I can't stop the doorway to Horrorville being opened again whilst I'm holding onto Cretin. But if I let him go he'll be running around trying to get the batteries too! What am I going to do?

Hang on! Maybe I don't have to stop the doorway being opened...

"Bunsen!" I shout. It comes out very loud and sounding a bit computerised, like Stephen Hawkins using a megaphone. "Put the batteries back in the Portal of Infinite Power and open the door to Horrorville!"

"What?!" snaps Bunsen. "How's that going to help?"

"Just do it!" I snap, lumbering towards the Portal with Cretin still in my grasp. "I've got an idea."

Grumbling and muttering Bunsen spits spurts of flame into the air as he flaps over to the Portal and rams the batteries back in. The shining disk of light re-appears as if it had never gone away.

"You fool," sneers Cretin. "You've made my job all the easier! Behold the next werebeast arrives!"

The disk shimmers with colour as the head of a werewolf appears.

"Howowowowowlll! You lose 'Victor'," snarls Cretin, making the Victor sound very sarcastic.

I shove Cretin in front of me and force his head down so that he's bending over, facing the portal. The other werewolf is halfway out by now.

"Hey! What are you doing you silver simpleton!" howls Cretin. "Once my army has crushed the Realm I'm going to melt you down and make a silver toilet out of you so I can sit on your face every day!"

"Yeh? Well sit on this!" I shout as I boot his butt as hard as I can.

Cretin hurtles forward, cart wheeling his huge arms as he crashes into the other werewolf, emerging from the doorway. The force of my kick and the weight of Cretin send them both flailing back through the doorway and they disappear with a flash of red light and a howl of rage.

"Tim! Bunsen! Quick! Guard this doorway whilst I get the rest of them!" I yell as I stride into the room and grab the first werebeast that leaps my way.

When I stomp back to the doorway, Bunsen is blasting flames through it to keep Cretin and the Werebeast Army on the other side. He stops just for an instant whilst I hurl the werebeast through.

And so I stomp back and forth across the room grabbing werebeasts and flinging them back through the shining disk to Horrorville. The ones that aren't leaping try to put up a fight but every time they attack me they're instantly weakened by my silver touch. So it's not long before I've snared the last leaping wererat and sent it squirming and squeaking through the disk.

With Bunsen still sending flames jetting through the doorway to keep the werebeasts back, Tim bends down and fiddles with the Portal, muttering a chant under his breath. Within moments the disk of shining light blinks out!

Whilst Tim continues to fiddle with the Portal, Bunsen sags to the cold stone floor, exhausted from the effort of constant flaming, and I clunk down next to him.

That's it! We've done it! It's all over!

A tremendous thump and crash has my head jerking up in alarm. The door! I'd forgotten about the werebeasts stuck behind the door!

The trouble is, they aren't stuck behind the door anymore! They have finally managed to bash it open, sending the grandfather clock smashing to the floor.

I jump to my feet as howling, yowling werebeasts flood into the room, trampling the splintered remains of the clock beneath their gnarly paws/trotters.

# Chapter Fifteen

## More Werebeasts Through the Portal?

An endless wave of werebeasts surge towards us.

I'm about to charge to meet them, steel against steel when the shimmering disc of light suddenly reappears behind me! Are werebeasts about to start pouring through there as well?!

I'm spinning, this way and that, not sure which threat to face, when Tim grabs my arm and drags me towards the shimmering disc. Bunsen is just disappearing through it!

"Quickly, Victor! After Bunsen! I will follow with the Portal," Tim shouts, giving me a shove towards the light.

I step into the light – and find myself back in the hall at the palace where the Council of War took place! There's nobody sat around the great U shaped stone table but, then, I suppose it is the middle of the night. In fact the there's nobody here at all, except Bunsen. And me, obviously. Oh, and now Tim, holding the Portal.

Tim quickly whips the batteries out and the disc of light disappears.

Being the only light source we are plunged into darkness.

Bunsen lets a few flames flicker from his jaws. In the flickering red/orange light Tim and Bunsen look exhausted. I feel the same way. Now it's all over, my energy just fades away and I flop down onto one of the chairs. There's a splintering crash as my silver weight turns the chair into matchsticks, followed by a loud clang as I land on the floor.

The light splutters as Bunsen laughs at me lying sprawled on the floor. Tim is grinning broadly and I can't help but chuckle. Soon we're all laughing uncontrollably. I'm not sure why, it's not really that funny. Maybe it's the relief of being out of danger and knowing that the Fantasy Realm is safe: Cretin the Cruel is back in Horrorville, the cavalry will easily deal with the werebeasts left in the stronghold and we've got the Portal of Infinite Power back. We deserve a good laugh.

The door to the hall suddenly bursts open and light floods in, blinding after the gloom of the almost dark.

Blinking to try and clear my vision I find I have leapt to my feet, my sword flashing out of its sheath. There's a grotesque figure stood in the doorway. I can only really make out a shadowy outline but it's some kind of hunchbacked monster. It lurches towards us.

Rubbing at my eyes with my left hand I advance on the beast, my sword raised, ready to strike. But something doesn't feel right. My arm brings the sword slashing down towards the disfigured creature.

No! At the last moment I force the sword wide and it clangs into the floor.

The figure takes a step back and says, "Victor the Victor, I assume?"

My eyes are starting to get used to the light now and I can make out enough to see that the figure isn't a monster, it's a man, with a rolled up rug or something over his shoulder.

"Er...sorry," I mumble, "I thought you were a horrible monster."

"Not for the first time," mumbles the man.

"What's going on!" demands Bunsen as he and Tim stride/flap over. "Who are you?"

"Royal Page," says the figure. "The King wishes to see Victor the Victor. He is to present himself immediately and give his report."

"Right," grumbles Bunsen. "Let's go then. Tim, grab the Portal."

"The King only wishes to see Victor at this moment. He will hear your report next."

Bunsen snorts flames and looks like he is about to object but Tim nudges him and mutters, "It's standard procedure, Bunsen; to make sure we give our own account of everything that happened. That way nothing gets missed. You know that."

Bunsen grumbles and splutters a bit but then says, "Off you go then Victor. We'll wait here. But hurry up, I want to go and get some sleep!"

"Me too," mutters Tim. "I can't remember every being so tired."

As I follow the page out of the room I can hear Bunsen growling, "No sleep for you wizard! Not until you've made me big again!"

Grinning, I follow the Royal Page down the corridor outside the door. We only walk a few metres before the page opens another door and ushers me into the room beyond. There's no King in here. In fact there's nothing in here! It's just a small bare room.

Then I remember, too late, that the King was going to lead the cavalry and should be halfway to Cretin's stronghold by now!

A trap!

I'm about to draw my sword and turn to confront this Royal Page when suddenly arms wrap around my body, crushing me!

Well, they would be crushing me if I wasn't made out of solid silver.

"Tyger!" gasps the page. He sounds vastly relieved. I suppose he should be, after all, the Realm is now safe, but this seems a little over the top. And awkward.

Hang on! Did he just call me Tyger?

"Tyger? It is you in there, isn't it?

"Dad?"

"Tyger! Thank god you're alright!"

It's dad. I think. Doesn't look like dad. But then I don't look like me. I'm a bit shocked. I shouldn't be. He said he was going to come and rescue me. He's a bit late!

Dad releases me from his bear hug and takes a step back, to peer up at my scarred, silver, bearded face. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to find you Tyger! Thank goodness nothing's happened to you."

That brings me out of my shock. "Nothing's happened to me?" I ask in disbelief. "I've turned into a giant of a man, I've been beaten and scarred, I've ridden a dragon, I've been attacked by werebeasts and, in case you haven't noticed, I've been turned to silver!"

Dad actually chuckles, which annoys me. "It certainly sounds like you have an adventure to tell me about, Tyger. What I meant was no _harm_ has come to you."

My frown creates silver glints in the air. "I've just told you, I've been turned into silver!"

Dad holds up a hand to ward off my response. "Sorry, Tyger. It looks like you have been through a lot. But fortunately all the damage has been done to Victor, not you. _You_ are perfectly fine." At this point he gestures towards the rug that he must have put on the floor when he followed me into the room.

It's not a rug - it's me: Tyger Pants.

I know it's me, I've seen myself in mirrors before. But it's a bit of a shock to see myself from the outside. Especially when I know I'm stood a couple of metres away.

Whilst I'm thinking this dad pull an Editor out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. The page's body immediately begins to shimmer and flicker, like a dodgy hologram. And then the shimmering image of the page changes to a flickering image of dad and solidifies again, as dad.

"It's not actually you that's silver Tyger, it's Victor. You're here," he says pointing at the Tyger me. "You've been unconscious since you set off on the mission. But don't worry, I'll swap you both over with the Editor and you'll be as good as new. Perhaps better," he adds with a little smile.

As he starts tapping away at the Editor again he says, "Actually, Tyger, it seems you've done a really good job here. You've stepped into a really tricky plot breakdown and sorted it all out. Without any training. It seems you're a natural Librarian."

"Natural librarian!" Way to insult someone, dad! Might as well say I'm a natural geek! "I'm not a natural librari..." my voice fades out as images of the wondrous, frightening, amazing, horrifying, exhilarating things that have happened to me flash in my head. And, according to dad, this is what Librarians do every day!

"Perhaps you might like to be a Librarian then, Tyger?"

"Oh yeh!" I exclaim. "Being a librarian is awefull!"

Dad frowns, not sure if he's heard me right. But seeing my smile he joins in and we stand there for a minute grinning stupidly at each other.

"Right then," says dad, turning his attention back to the Editor, "let's get you two swapped over. He clicks away at the Editor and points it first at me then at..er..me. Both of us shimmer and flicker like the page/dad did and in a few seconds I'm back in my own body and, I guess, Victor is back in his.

Dad looks at me with a frown creasing his brow and one eyebrow raised. "What?" I ask.

"You seem to have grown beard! Or at least kept Victor's. Never mind, we'll shave it off later. I'm sure it won't grow back again for a few years."

As dad wanders over to Victor and fiddles around with the Editor, I absently raise my hand to my chin and stroke my beard. Like most things since I picked up dad's Editor back in the library, it's not something I thought I would be doing today. And then I find myself chuckling as I remember thinking, back in the library before this whole adventure started, that I was as likely to grow a beard as I was to want to be a librarian by the end of the day. It's funny how things work out.

"Right!" says dad, snapping me out of my daydream. "I've altered Victor's memory so he'll remember everything that happened as if he was here all along. Which means our job is done and we can get back to the library. Come and stand next to me, Tyger."

I shuffle over and Dad makes a final stab at the screen of the Editor. As we start to fade away Victor begins to stir.

"We should be back in time for lunch," says dad.

"Lunch! Isn't it time to go home? I've been here for hours!" I protest.

"Time works a bit differently here," says dad. "Don't worry. I've found something really interesting for you to do."

Phew! I wonder what? Another mission? That would be frosty! Maybe I'll be a pirate or a spaceman or an alien or a...

"I've found another room full of books that need labels!"

"What!?" I can't believe it. He wants me to stick boring labels in boring books after all this excitement.

"It's all part of being a Librarian, Tyger. The books don't look after themselves you know. But then again, neither do the stories."

Sneaky Peak at Tyger Pants 2

Count Tarantula

# Chapter One

## The Awkward Subject

Glancing around the breakfast table I try to judge the best moment to raise the awkward subject.

Dad's got his head stuck in the local newspaper. Not literally. But whatever he's reading must be pretty interesting because he's buttered his tie and is slowly raising it to his mouth to take a bite.

Sandy's eating her shredded wheat with a book propped open in front of her. I can't see the title but it will either be about ponies or princesses. Who knows, she's beaming like a toddler with a fist full of chocolate so it might even be about a pony princess.

Mum's sloshing some orange juice into a glass. "We never have any conversation at this table," she grumbles. "Everyone's always got their eyes glued to a book!"

That's not strictly true. I don't. I'm not keen on reading. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against reading, it's just not for me. The way I figure it, if we were meant to read, video games wouldn't have been invented. I suppose books are ok for people with limited minds that can't cope with proper excitement though.

Mum's sipping her juice now. She's still got the carton in her other hand, reading the ingredients. Oranges?

In theory, now would be a good time to bring the awkward subject up: everyone is quiet and whilst mum seems a bit grumpy, at least there aren't any arguments.

Not yet.

I chase some cornflakes around my bowl with a spoon until they become milklogged and sink below the surface. I take a deep breath, it's now or never...

"Dad, can I help you out at the library this morning?" I ask, sounding as casual as possible.

"I don't see why not Tyger," dad responds from behind the newspaper.

I glance at mum, waiting for the usual objection. My hopes rise, she's distracted, reading the back of the cereal box now. Dad's agreed so if I just keep quiet and tag along with him maybe mum won't notice I've gone until it's too late. I try to suppress the grin spreading across my face.

"Mum, you said Tyger couldn't go to the library," says Sandy, looking at me with a smirk on her face.

"What's that dear?" asks mum, still reading the cereal box.

"Shut up!" I hiss at Sandy.

Sandy grins at me. "Tyger wants to go to the library with dad."

Frowning, mum drags her eyes from the cereal box and fixes them on me instead. "Tyger, we've been through this a dozen times. You are not helping out at the library!" she declares.

"Aww but mum..."

"No Tyger!"

"Dad said I could," I throw back.

Mum stabs a piercing glare at dad but his newspaper seems to be glare proof so she turns it on me instead. "Tyger, no means no! You can stay at home and play with your Pii or that xPox720 thingy."

"But dad said I could help him out on Saturdays. _He_ said he would start training me up to be a Librarian." I reach over and pull down the newspaper that dad has retreated further behind and give him an imploring look. " _Didn't_ _you_ dad!"

Dad glances at mum and I know I've lost. My imploring look is never going to beat her piercing glare.

"Er...perhaps another weekend we can..." dad starts. Mum's glare intensifies. "It's not really a good time, Tyger. It's really busy at the library right now. Lots to sort out."

"All the more reason for me to help then," I suggest.

Dad flicks a look at mum. She gives a slight shake of her head.

"The thing is, Tyger, the thing is...er..." dad's brow has creased and there's a bead of sweat glistening on his temple. Ha! I've got him. He can't think of a good reason why I shouldn't help.

"I expect you don't have time to train Tyger _because_ you are so busy," suggests Sandy.

"Yes. That's it exactly!" says dad, relaxing back behind his newspaper.

"Huh! That's just an excuse," I mumble, scowling at Sandy. She sticks her tongue out at me and goes back to reading her book.

"Look Tyger, do as your mother says; stay and play some video games," says dad from behind the newspaper. "You can grab a stash of chocolate and crisps from the treat box if you like."

Talk about bribing your way out of something! We're normally only allowed one thing out of that treat box a week. I'm surprised it hasn't all gone mouldy.

"And I'll pop down to the shop and get you some coke," adds mum. "The real stuff, not own brand."

I know I've lost but I can't help throwing out my usual argument of last resort, "It's so unfair!"

Mum retorts with the parents' ultimate weapon, "Tyger, it's only because we love you. The library is too dangerous. Look what happened last time. You've still got the scars on your chin!"

"If you really loved me you'd want me to have some fun!" I mumble as I push my chair back and stomp off across the room.

"Tyger, you haven't asked to leave the table," says mum.

"Why should I," I grumble, pulling the door open.

"Because it's the polite thing to do," says dad.

"That's not it at all, is it!" I snap, turning in the doorway to glare at him. "It's just a daily reminder that YOU'RE in charge and that I can only do things if YOU say so. Well it's not fair!"

The door makes a satisfying bang as I slam it. I start stamping up the stairs to my room but about halfway up I realize I've left something behind. Rats! If I go back now I'll ruin my dramatic exit. But...

I debate it for a few moments then turn round and tramp back down the stairs. Entering the kitchen with a scowl, I march past the breakfast table to the cupboard, deliberately not looking at mum and dad. I grab the treat box, turn and march straight back out again.

As I pass the table Sandy's hand snakes out, dips into the box and come out with a packet of candy love hearts. Grudgingly I have to admire her skill; her eyes haven't left the pages of her book and she's still spooning shredded wheat in her mouth with her other hand.

Not bothering to slam the door, it's kind of difficult with the treat box in my hands, I retreat to my room.

Tyger Pants 2 is available through Smashwords and various online retailers.

# About the Author

##

As a child I was not a keen reader. I didn't see the point: there were comics and a picture is worth a thousand words, right?

Now I am an avid reader and regret missing out on so many good stories as a kid. Fortunately, with children of my own, I'm now managing to catch up, reading stories to them every night before bed.

There isn't anything quite like a book to let you escape from real life for a while. True, films are great, but they don't involve you as much as a book. A well written book will get your imagination working, filling the story with colour and energy, making the story yours. A film is just a depiction of somebody else's imagination.

In fact, I enjoy reading stories to my children so much, I started to write my own. And bearing in mind my own reluctance to read as a child I have written them to be as engaging as possible, to draw the reader into a land of imagination and discovery.

