To Catch a Wolf

“So, what’s the catch?” Jack examined the knife, turning it over to admire the finely carved handle. It was a beautiful piece in an unfamiliar style.

“No catch that I know of, young master,” the old man held his hands up and backed away. “I’m just a messenger. It is from the queen.”

Jack frowned at him.

“That is all I know, sir. Please, if you will excuse me,” the old fellow turned and almost ran from the chamber.

Jack held the knife up to the pale light coming through the high window of his chamber. The glossy white blade, possibly ivory, matched its bone carved handle. Intricately woven lines suggested running animals. The blade was as long as his index finger and slightly curved. It looked sharp.

He was sure the queen, his aunt, would have a purpose behind this gift. She did nothing without purpose, the old monster. The full moon feast was tonight, and he would ask her then. The timing of this gift would be no coincidence. She would have a favour to ask of him, no doubt.

Jack tried the blade against his thumb and gasped when a thin line of bright blood appeared, seemingly before the edge touched his skin. He quickly put the thumb in his mouth. The iron taste of blood was strong for such a small wound, as if the blade had tainted it somehow.

That evening Jack dressed for the moon feast with trepidation. The cut on his thumb had healed within minutes, leaving no sign, which was unnatural and alarming. A short while later, a flash of heat spread in a few seconds from his healed hand up his arm to his chest. He passed out, waking an hour later with a bump on his head, feeling flushed. His heart beat quickly, and he squirmed with unnatural energy. The walls of his room were confining, like a cage. He resisted the urge to leave the castle and run out into the forest.

Jack considered staying away from the feast. He did not feel confident in himself, and court events were always highly charged, with intrigue, innuendo, and posturing. But then again, his absence would be noted, leading to unwanted speculation. He could send his apologies and pretend sickness, which was not far from the truth, but he had to go. He had a family to consider, a mother and younger brother. They had been effectively banished from court after his father, the queen’s brother, was murdered. They relied on his success at court for their safety and comfort. So he would go and play the part expected of him.

Besides, the queen would not be denied. He could perhaps avoid her tonight, but not for long. She would send for him tomorrow anyway, possibly vexed by the delay in whatever scheme she had in mind for him. Better to get it over with tonight. He would not sleep for worry unless the matter were dealt with. He would go, and may God protect him and his family.

Jack’s walk to the great hall from his chamber in the west wing was not without incident. It was a twenty-minute walk along dusty, poorly lit corridors with short flights of stairs. Jack was not tired, but he felt physically weak and overcome on several occasions with spells of dizziness so intense he had to lean against a wall or hold on to a bannister until it passed. These turns lasted only a few seconds, but were debilitating and added to Jack’s rising panic. What if he collapsed in the great hall before the whole court? The prospect of lying helpless on the ground before his peers was unbearable.

Jack dismissed the idea that the queen had deliberately poisoned him, wishing him dead. If the queen wanted him dead, he would be dead. It was as simple as that. No, she had something else in mind for him. He could only hope it was not something worse than death by poisoning. The queen was nothing if not imaginative.

Jack approached the great hall doors feeling physically alright for the moment. He put on a smile and approached the small crowd that stood around talking in cliques of twos and threes. Jack nodded to this side and that, receiving smiles from some and frowns from others in return. Some women curtseyed, and some men bowed their heads. No one spoke to him, but he did not expect they would. As one of the royal family, even as distant as he was from high office, few would dare speak to him unless spoken to first. One such person stood by the partly open doors ahead of him, tall and dressed in black as always; Sir Malbrook, the chancellor.

“My Lord,” Sir Malbrook inclined his head the merest fraction when Jack approached. “The queen wishes to speak to you at once,” he raised an eyebrow and smiled as if looking at an amusing child.

“I expected as much, Sir Malbrook,” Jack smiled back, hoping his fake self-confidence convinced, but doubting Malbrook was taken in. The cunning old bastard was the second most powerful and dangerous person in the land. He hadn’t survived to a grand old age by being easily fooled. “Lead on,” Jack said. “Let’s not leave my aunt waiting.”

“Quite so. This way.” The chancellor turned and led Jack into the hall. The heavy doors closed behind them.

One hundred paces away, on the dais at the far end, stood the diminutive figure of the queen in purple satin, dwarfed by the ancient throne of state behind her.

The chancellor led the way at a stately pace down the aisle between long tables laid out with silver and crystal for the feast. Jack followed, eyes on the grey marble floor, letting his facade of confidence fall away. There was no point pretending in front of his aunt. She knew him too well and detested such fakery. The chancellor, too, now they were alone, would drop all pretence of deference or even civility.

The queen and the chancellor were the only ones with power in this room. He was nothing. His only defence was the bond of blood he shared with his aunt, which was worth little. He feared the worst. His only consolation was that his ordeal was coming to an end. The mystery of the strange knife was about to be revealed.

“I have brought the whelp, your majesty,” the chancellor announced as they approached.

“Ha! Excellent, Malbrook. He is indeed a whelp,” the queen’s voice was deep for a little old woman. “Are you a whelp, Jack?”

“If you say so, your majesty,” Jack felt flushed and self-conscious. A small boy mocked by adults. He had a strong desire to sit on the floor and cry.

“Shall I explain it to him, your majesty?” The chancellor looked down on Jack with mock pity. “The poor boy is confused.”

“Yes, yes, put him out of his misery.” The queen turned away and shuffled slowly towards the enormous throne.

“I’m not certain the information will reduce the lad’s misery, your majesty,” the chancellor’s smile displayed amusement rather than empathy.

Jack looked back and forth between the old woman and the old man, unable to think, wanting to turn and flee but unable to move. He had to find out what trouble he was in. There was no point running away. There was nowhere he could hide that was beyond the reach of these two.

“I believe you have cut yourself, boy,” Malbrook said. “With Her Majesty’s gift. Is that correct?”

Jack nodded.

“Good, good,” Malbrook smiled. “That knife was crafted from the teeth and jaws of a werewolf, which means that you have effectively been bitten by that werewolf,” he paused.

Jack stopped breathing.

“The curse still holds, even though the beast is long dead, and so you will become a werewolf yourself at the next full moon, which, as you know, is this very night.”

Jack slumped to the floor and hugged his knees.

“You are not the first young man to receive this gift. Do you remember your cousin?” Malbrook tilted his head.

“Ben,” Jack whispered. “Cousin Benjamin.”

“Do you remember what happened to him?”

Jack nodded, looking straight ahead, jaw clenched.

“Good, then you know your fate.”

Jack would never forget what happened to cousin Benjamin, nor would anyone else who saw it. Ben missed a moon feast last year, as Jack had considered doing tonight. At midnight, the dancing was interrupted by shouts from outside the hall, followed by the clash of weapons and screams of dying men.

The doors burst open, and a monster staggered in.

Courtiers shrank back against the walls, women wailed, and men cried out in terror. The enormous grey beast, half wolf, half man, staggered forward, covered in the blood of its victims and its own. Arrows stuck out of its fur. Open wounds bled freely. Evidence of the bravery of soldiers who stood against the creature and died, trying to protect their betters, who now pissed themselves in terror.

The queen stood alone, undaunted, before the monster.

The wolf-man bounded forward, arms raised to strike the queen, who lifted her tiny hand, palm forward, and with that simple gesture, halted its murderous charge.

The remaining soldiers immediately fell upon the beast, frantically hacking and slashing. The monster stood paralysed by the queen’s will until its hideous head was separated from the bloody ruin of its body.

In death, the wolf-man reverted to its human form, and cousin Benjamin lay in two pieces on the fine-tiled floor.

Women and men screamed.

Ben’s mother fainted.

The courtiers cried out in reverence to the queen, by whose hand they had been saved from death as gruesome as the one that lay before them.

Jack took a deep, shuddering breath. His fate was certain then. All his hopes for a fine, noble future were gone to nothing within a few short hours. He would be dead before dawn. There was no escape.

“My family,” Jack looked up at Malbrook.

“Yes, yes, they will be cared for,” Malbrook flicked the question away with the back of his hand and turned towards the queen.

“Let us start this wretched feast,” said the queen, looking tiny on the massive throne with her feet dangling off the ground.

“Off you go, lad,” said Malbrook over his shoulder. “We expect you to play your part at midnight. Do not disappoint us.”

Jack slunk from the room. He would go to his mother. She needed to know what the queen had done. His brother must be warned. He was not safe.

At 11 thirty, shafts of bright moonlight beamed down from high windows into the feasting hall. The tables were cleared and pushed back to the walls. The courtiers formed two lines down the centre to dance before their queen, slow and stately, under twinkling chandeliers. Music came from a small orchestra to the left of the dais, where the queen sat alone. Even the chancellor was on the dance floor among the lesser lords and ladies.

Three minutes before midnight, a shout came from outside, followed by more shouts and the screams of men in terror and agony. The music faltered and stopped. Everyone stared at the door in silence. A girl screamed and was hushed.

The great doors crashed open, and a monstrous wolf-man leapt into the room, claws and muzzle bloody.

The queen rose slowly to her feet and walked to the front of the dais. The wolf-man stalked forwards, teeth bared. Blood dripped from its jaws, leaving a red trail.

The courtiers shrank back to the walls or crouched under the tables in rapt silence.

The queen raised her hand, palm out towards the monster, and it halted, panting before her, seeming to strain forward but unable to move.

The courtiers looked to the door for soldiers to rush in and kill the beast. They should be here already.

Somebody whimpered.

The Wolf-Jack raised his bloody muzzle to the vaulted ceiling and howled. More howls answered his call. Two more werewolves bounded in, blood dripping from tooth and claw. An old female and a young male.

Wolf-Jack’s heart lifted with pride. His mother’s solution, to share his curse, eagerly adopted by his brother. They would survive or die as a family.

The werewolf pack faced their foes together.

Lords and ladies screamed.

The two newcomers ignored them and ran towards the stage. The courtiers rushed for the doors, fighting and trampling each other in panic.

“Elizabeth?” The queen stared at the wolf-woman crouched before her, teeth bared, eyes blazing. “Elizabeth, dear, is that you?”

The queen’s head burst between the jaws of her sister-in-law.

Jack’s mother shook her head until the queen’s body tore free, making a bloody arc through the air.

She howled, spraying bits of bone, teeth, and brains.

Now the hall was empty apart from a long figure dressed in black lying pinned, gabbling, under the paw of the young wolf-man.

Released from the queen’s control, Wolf-Jack padded over to the chancellor and opened his throat with a single claw.

Wolf-Elizabeth sat on the throne with her sons on either side. Together, in silence, they watched the great doors.

Waiting for moon-set and whatever came with the dawn.