Free 100% Hero by Jayne Lyons Page A

someone able to keep
up with him . . . just so long as she wasn't better than
him. It wouldn't do to be beaten by a girl.
    'I'm famous too!' he butted in. 'I'm like almost
the world champion at rock-sailing, I mean windclimbing.'
His hands were on his hips and his ears
were waggling. 'And ab-surfing.'
    Madam Tarot turned back to him with a raised
eyebrow.
    'And zis, I zuppose, iz ze boy you spoke of,' she said
to Chester, while glancing at Freddy with disgust.
    'Yes, I'm a mole!' Freddy had been staring at her
chin. 'I mean a boy! And don't worry, I won't try too
hard against the girls. Wart, erm, what I mean is, I'll
easily beat them without trying.'
    Madam Tarot took a step closer and inspected
Freddy as if he were a type of insect she had never
seen before. She looked up in revulsion as Freddy's
stomach made the most appalling noise. It sounded
like a tiny brass band was trying to play trombones
through his belly button. He gave a loud burp.
    'Oh, that's better.' He rubbed his stomach. 'I'm so
starving. If you show me to the boys' campfire, I'll be
okay once I get some food. I eat sausages every day,
sometimes twenty.'
    ' Boyz' camp ?' Madam Tarot repeated with a scowl.
Freddy nodded eagerly. ' Zauzages ?' She pursed her
lips and looked over at Chester. 'Ze boy iz like you
zaid . . . zun idiotten .'
    'He certainly is, Madam. One hundred per cent.'
Chester laughed, but all trace of his normal friendliness
seemed to be gone.
    Freddy couldn't speak foreign languages and
so must have misheard, for he almost thought the
adventure leader had called him an idiot. That couldn't
be right.
    'If you vill pleaze bring your bags zis vay.' Madam
Tarot turned away and hobbled into the hall.
    Freddy, frowning a little in confusion, shouldered his
bag and entered the grim house. The door closed behind
them with a thud. Freddy looked at the walls – they
were covered in paintings and photographs of ballerinas
and men in tights. He gave a snort of laughter.
    'So-ooo lame,' he whispered to Priscilla, who stared
at him as coldly as she had on that very first meeting.
    Madam Tarot turned and glared at him.
    'You make ze fun of my limp, boy?' she hissed.
    'Oh, no, I didn't, that is . . .' Freddy's nose scrunched
up in embarrassment. 'Hairy moles, I mean, stinky
feet . . . I just meant ballet is for, you know . . . losers.'
    'Loozers?' The lady could hardly draw breath.
    'Well, yeah,' Freddy panicked. 'I mean, he's not
a dude who goes canoeing, is he?' He pointed at a
picture of a male ballet dancer. 'I'd never be seen dead
in tights.'
    'You vill vear tights, boy, or never eat a zauzage
again.' Madam Tarot gave a cold laugh.
    'Wart?' Freddy didn't understand. Who on earth
went rock-surfing in tights?
    'There is no boys' camp, Freddo,' Chester said,
barely able to contain his laughter.
    'Zere are no boys at all,' Madam Tarot said, with
a shiver of disgust. ''Orrible, smelly, noizy creatures.
You vill zleep here.' She flung open a door to a tiny
room that had an old mattress on the floor, and mops
and buckets against the wall.
    'What?' Freddy didn't understand anything. He
looked at Priscilla for an explanation. 'Where are the
tough, extreme-sports guys?'
    'There are none, idiot, just one wimp instead. You!
Welcome to ballet school . . . loser.'
    Freddy's voice failed him. Now it all made sense.
    'I'm not staying,' he said, jumping to the door.
    'Oh, yes you are, Freddo,' Chester growled and
pushed him back in the room. 'You will stay here and
keep out of my way for as long as I say so.' He hissed
so Freddy alone heard him: 'And don't even think
about trying to contact the Fang Council, because I
have a gun aimed at your father's heart, night and day.
All I need to do is give the word. The Treasure of Bane
will soon be mine, as it should have been Dravin's.
No-one is at Farfang to stop me.'
    'But that's evil . . . I'll warn him! I'll save him!'
Freddy cried.
    'How, idiot? You keep quiet or