“That’s her, that’s her,” sniggered one.
“Yes yes, yes yes,” chorused the others.
“She can’t find her way-a-y ...” giggled the first one.
“No, she can’t, she can’t, she’s lost,” they chorused.
“Soon she’ll be eaten.”
“Yes yes, yes yes.”
“Eaten, eaten, eaten.”
“Yes yes, yes yes.”
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the Will-o’-the- Wisps slipped off through the trees and were gone. Penelope stood in the center of the clearing and wondered which one of the six paths to choose, wishing she had a compass with her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the map of the Island and in which direction the rue field lay. When she opened her eyes, at the entrance to each path stood a Werewolf.
They looked like very large, shaggy Alsatian dogs, walking on their hind legs and using their front paws as cleverly as monkeys. Their eyes glinted green in the moonlight and they were all panting, their red tongues flapping in and out, their white teeth gleaming. Before Penelope could move, the Werewolves converged on her swiftly and silently. A bag was thrown over her head and she felt herself lifted in hard, furry paws and carried off, the only sound being the hoarse panting of her captors as they jogged along.
Presently, Penelope was put down and tied to what felt like a tree trunk. Then the bag was removed from her head and she saw she was in a large, gloomy cave lit by a big, flickering fire. She was bound to a tree trunk that had been planted upright in the cave’s earthen floor, and on either side of her were two other tree trunks to which were tied Peter and Simon. “Penelope!” exclaimed Peter. “What are you doing here?” “Why aren’t you with Oswald?” cried Simon.
Hastily, since the Werewolves had left the cave, Penelope related her story of the Firedrake and her subsequent capture.
“Well,” said Peter, “we got through the Mandrake Forest all right, and we found the rue—it grows on the seashore near here.”
“We put it into the sacks,” said Simon, “and then Oswald appeared and said you’d sent him. So we told him to go back and get the dinghy and you and Ethelred.”
“Parrot went with him,” said Peter, “and we were waiting for you to come back, when suddenly a whole host of those awful Wisps appeared, shouting ‘Here they are, here they are,’ and the Werewolves jumped on us before we could do anything. That was half an hour ago.”
“What are they going to do with us?” asked Penelope.
“Turn us into Werewolves,” answered Peter gloomily, “to increase their numbers.”
“Don’t be silly, how could they?” said Penelope, aghast.
“If they bite us, we’ll turn into Werewolves,” said Simon. “The guard told us. They’re having a special ceremony when the moon sets. They’ll bite us and that’ll be that.”
Penelope was silent, thinking of the fate awaiting them. “Well, we can’t get free, we’ve tried,” said Peter. “They certainly knowhow to tie one up.”
“I’ve got a knife in my pocket, but I can’t reach it,” said Simon.
Just at that moment a Werewolf came into the cave. Seen in the flickering firelight they were even more fierce-looking and unattractive than they had been by moonlight, Penelope decided.
“No talking,” said the Werewolf in a harsh, growly voice. “I’ve told you before.”
“Oh, go and boil your head,” said Peter pugnaciously.
“Yes,” said Simon, “we’ve got every right to talk. Why shouldn’t we?”
“It’s the law,” said the Werewolf, lying down by the fire.
“How can it be the law when you haven’t had any prisoners before?” asked Penelope, indignantly. “Don’t be so stupid.”
The Werewolf put his ears back and snarled at her. “We’re not stupid,” he said. “We captured you all, and that was not stupid, so be quiet.”
There was silence for a time, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then, suddenly, the Werewolf, who’d been lying dozing with his head on his paws, pricked up his ears. Then he sat up, staring at the mouth of the cave. The children could see something very strange creeping into the cave. It looked like a long, white caterpillar. The children and the Werewolf watched it, as it crawled steadily closer and closer to the fire. The Werewolf got up on all fours, the fur on his back standing up, and he growled at the strange, white caterpillarlike thing.
“Halt, who goes there?” he snarled.
“Arr,” said the caterpillar. “Arr, arr, friend.”
“Who are you?” said the Werewolf, now somewhat alarmed.
“I’m a Weretoad,” said a familiar voice. “I’m a Weretoad, and I’ve been sent ’ere with a very important present for the Chief of the Werewolves.”
As this strange apparition got close to the fire, the delighted children could see that it was indeed Ethelred with a large roll of cotton wool stuck to his back.
“What’s a Weretoad?” asked the Werewolf, puzzled.
“You mean to say you’ve never ’eard of a Weretoad?” asked Ethelred with scorn. “I don’t think much of your education, then.”
“I’m very well educated,” said the Werewolf indignantly. “Well educated? You? You, wot’s never ’eard of a Were- toad?” said Ethelred. “Lummy, if I was you, I’d be ashamed to admit I didn’t know wot a Weretoad was.”
“Well, what is it?” asked the Werewolf angrily.
“It’s just like a Werewolf, only different,” said Ethelred. “More dangerous, like, more evil and cunning.”
“You couldn’t be more dangerous or evil or cunning than said the Werewolf. “I don’t believe you.”
“Are you accusing me of telling lies?” inquired Ethelred. “I do ’ope not, for your sake. Us Weretoads can be real nasty if we’re put upon.”
“I’m not saying you’re lying,” said the Werewolf hastily. “I just said I didn’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s better, then,” said Ethelred. “Now where’s your Chief, eh? I’ve got this present for ’im.”
“What is the present?” asked the Werewolf suspiciously. “Look, it’s for ’im, not for you,” said Ethelred. “It’s a special magic potion for making Were-things twice as . . . er . . . um . . . er, twice as ‘Were’ as wot they are, see?”
“Twice as ‘Were’?” asked the Werewolf. “You mean more cunning, more dangerous, more evil?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Ethelred, producing a small bottle from under his cotton wool disguise. “You just rub this ’ere lotion on your tail, and before you can say ‘filleted frog’s legs,’ you’ve become one of the ‘Were-est’ of all Werewolves.”
“You mean that if . . . just supposing, of course . . . if I had this potion I could be promoted—say—from sentry to leader of the pack?” asked the Werewolf, licking his lips.
“Of course,” said Ethelred. “No doubt about it. Shouldn’t be surprised but wot your Chief doesn’t proclaim himself King after rubbing that lot on his tail.”
“There . . . er . . . seems to be a great deal in that bottle,” said the Werewolf thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said Ethelred, “plenty ’ere.”
“I wondered if . . . perhaps . . . you might allow me to just put the tiniest bit on my tail,” said the Werewolf. “I mean just the merest drop—so little, the Chief wouldn’t notice.”
“Well, I don’t know about that now,” said Ethelred doubtfully. “After all, it’s ’is present, and I ’aven’t got no right, really.”
“Oh go on,” said the Werewolf pleadingly. “Just a drop— he’ll never know, and I’ll be ever so grateful.”