Wolf at the Door: Dark Heart Forest Fairy Tales

By Alannah Foley

Dastardly deeds meet love, hope & humour in this fantasy adventure, a fairy tale sequel imagining of the Three Little Pigs...

 

Having escaped the clutches of a huge wolf, the three pigs assume the worst is over. But danger lurks in many guises – and in the little town of Merryvale, it seems, there's nowhere to hide.

* * *

As far as Tarquin is concerned, Merryvale is the perfect spot for him and his nephews, Dave and Porker, to settle. As pigs who have long since adopted human traits – like walking, talking, and dressing in clothes – they are in sore need of the opportunity such a thriving little town affords, and the locals seem relatively tolerant of their strange looks. What's more, Merryvale is a world away from a past they'd rather forget.

Unfortunately, trouble continues to stalk them. And as a sinister chain of events begins to unravel, they find themselves on the wrong side of fate once again.

With danger lurking round every corner and the odds stacked against them, can they ever hope to prevail?

Find out in Wolf at the Door, a twisted fairy tale sequel imagining of the Three Little Pigs.

(Approx. length 140k.)

ABOUT the Author's Fairy Tale Fiction

If you love stories with a blend of adventure, humour, romance, and a touch of magic thrown in, then the author's fairy tale-inspired fiction is for you.

Written for adults, stories often call into question the 'facts' of the original tales. So, whether you're reading a reimagining of a tale or an imagined sequel, it'll come with some intriguing twists.

Featuring strong female leads, each story has a flavour all its own, with varying shades of light and dark, and is set in a shared world, on the same continent, with the notoriously dangerous Dark Heart Forest at its centre. And although they can be read as standalones, you may spot a few overlaps with characters and places.

Books are written in British English and contain no sex or swearing. However, there may be occasional violence or content not suited to children.

So… ready for an adventure?

Get started NOW with Wolf at the Door!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pyjama Writer Publishing
• Release date: Jun 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223474937

Alannah Foley

Alannah Foley… aka 'The Pyjama Writer' Raised in the UK, Alannah lived in her Aussie birthplace for five years in her twenties, where mozzies regularly used her for target practice. She managed to return to Old Blighty devoid of shark or snake bite, however, and currently lives in picturesque Cornwall with her cycling-obsessed partner. Alannah is a multi-genre author who has published mysteries and other works of fiction as well as travel tales about her capers in a campervan and adventures Down Under. When she's not writing, Alannah likes to hit the trails on her bike, take walks in nature, and go kayaking – basically, anything that will get her butt out of the chair for a while that doesn't involve going to a sweaty old gym. Find out more about the author and where she got her Pyjama Writer nickname on her website at www.thePyjamaWriter.com/about.

Book preview

~ PART I: BEFORE ~

PRINT BOOK ICON - DARK HEART FOREST SERIES SMALLEST

Chapter 1

Elm Tree Cottage

Merryvale Heath

22nd December

It was a chill winter's afternoon, and as the three little pigs snuggled round the fire in their armchairs, the flames crackled bright, casting a warm glow across their faces.

A large black cauldron bubbled gently away in the hearth. Help yourself to more wolf broth, dear boy, Tarquin said, lowering his leather-bound poetry book and smiling at his nephew. There's plenty to go around.

Don't mind if I do, Porker replied. I'm famished!

The eyes of his brother Dave widened in disbelief. Famished? That's your third bowlful!

Porker scowled back. "So what if it is? He dropped his spoon on the fireside table, got up, and reloaded his bowl from the cauldron. Returning to his seat, he scooped something out of the bowl. Crikey! That wolf sure was hairy."

Dave eyed the broth on his spoon, his lip curling. Tell me about it! he groaned. "You get a free hair – or, should I say, clump of the blighters – with every mouthful. I thought I asked you to sieve those out."

Err… I forgot, Porker replied.

Huh! Too busy daydreaming about gambling and where his next drink's coming from, more like, Dave thought as he lowered his bowl and took a sip of his tea instead. As far as he was concerned, that was about the size of what went on in his brother's pea-brain.

"Well, I certainly don't mind a few hairs if it means we're eating instead of being eaten, Porker countered. He let out a loud snorty chuckle. Ha! When that wolf came down the chimney yesterday, he really thought he was going to be the one having a feast, didn't he? We might be small, but we certainly turned the tables on him, eh? Just like that measly giant that turned up the other day."

Dave looked incredulous. Turned up? Is that what you call it? You're the one that lured him here.

Yeah, well, he's dead now. Just like the wolf, Porker said dismissively, proceeding to bury his face in his bowl and let out a series of loud slurps as he noshed his broth.

Tarquin stared at him over the round wiry rim of his spectacles. Goodness me, Darwood! Have you completely lost your manners?

Porker looked up from his bowl. Honestly, Uncle, I wished you wouldn't keep calling me that, he whined. "If you must know, I hate that name with a passion – always have, always will."

Tarquin dropped his book into his lap. Hate it? How could you possibly hate the name your precious mother and father bestowed upon you – God rest their souls?

Spotting the broth dripping from his nephew's snout, he picked up a clean linen napkin, and held it stiffly out to him.

He took is reluctantly and began cleaning himself up. Come on, Uncle, no one in their right mind would ever call their kid Darwood, he argued. I mean, what sort of name's that? It's like some kind of punishment.

If you don't mind me saying, that's a rather unkind view, Tarquin said irritably. Your parents loved you very much. Besides, you were named after your mother's father, and it's rather a distinguished name, if you want my opinion.

Well, I've always been ribbed about it, Porker said, putting the dirty napkin aside. And now it looks like we might be here to stay for a while, I'm reinventing myself – so there.

Reinventing yourself, my eye! Anyone would think you fancied yourself as some sort of celebrity, Dave scoffed. Anyway, I'd have thought, if you were going to 'reinvent yourself', you could've come up with a better name than that.

"Well, all my mates down at the tavern like to call me Porker, and I kinda like it – so if you don't mind, I'll stick with a name of my own choosing."

Yeah, well, it doesn't matter what anyone calls you, you're still a greedy swine. Dave shook his head. I honestly don't know where you put all that grub. It's people like you that gives our kind a bad name.

Porker's jaw tensed. Look, brother dearest, you show me a pig that's not ravenously hungry all the time – present company excluded, of course, he added with disdainful emphasis, and I'll give you a thousand groats… Being hungry is in our blood!

"You haven't got a thousand groats! Dave shot back. Besides which, our homes were blown down by that wild-eyed wolf – remember? So until we're in full-time employment, a thousand groats will be a long way off – a very long way off indeed."

Now, now, you two! No need to bicker, Tarquin said, trying to keep the peace. And Darwood, if you wish us to call you Porker, we'll make the effort to remember – won't we, David?

Dave nodded reluctantly. It's no skin off my snout.

Nose, Tarquin corrected.

Sorry, Uncle. It just slipped out, Dave replied.

Tarquin gave a kind smile. It's an easy mistake to make, and it does no harm when we're amongst our own kind, my boy, but when we're out in public, it's important to make that extra effort to keep up appearances.

Dave nodded. Don't worry, I won't make the same mistake twice.

Truth be told, they didn't exactly know what their own kind was. Tarquin preferred to call them pig-men, as opposed to pigs, because they lived in two worlds: their features were distinctly porcine yet they had long since adopted human traits, like talking and walking on two legs. And, dressing in human attire, such as a basic shirt and trousers, they managed to pass for humans, albeit ones with rather unattractive looks as far as anyone was concerned.

How their kind had come to be in the first place was a curious enigma. Porker decided that a powerful sorcerer must have cast some kind of magic spell over them, but Dave and Tarquin couldn't go along with such a fanciful notion. After all, as far as anyone knew, magic of olde wasn't practised anymore.

No, there was only one rational explanation: a grandiose new 'Theory of Evolvement' contrived by a couple of natural scientists named Charles Darwing and Russ Wallis. Now that was more likely to account for their unusual behaviour, surely.

No doubt their kind were an off-shoot of the average pig, who still went about on all fours and scrubbed about in farmyard mud. But by mixing with humans for so long, they'd somehow 'absorbed' some of their behaviours – although how such a thing was even possible or why some pigs were still 'stuck in the mud' was a deep mystery.

Extrapolating on the theory, Tarquin hypothesised that subsequent generations of their kind might evolve further, developing such physical characteristics as fingers. And their snouts could eventually look more like human noses, too. One day, he hoped, they might come to fit in better with humans. In the meantime, however, their looks set them sorely apart.

In any case, fortunately, no one's cottoned onto the fact that we're not human, Tarquin went on. Everyone seems to assume we're immigrants from a faraway land. And ideally, I'd like to keep it that way, so never let your guard down, hnn? After that fiasco back at our old animal farm home, I plan to give trouble as wide a berth as possible. I just want to settle down and have a nice, quiet life out here in the country.

Too right! Dave agreed. If anyone got wind that we were involved with the shenanigans back there, we'd be tossed out on our big, hairy ears.

"Come on! The news about that won't have reached these parts, Porker said confidently. That's miles away."

Tarquin gave him a cautious look. Even so, I don't think it wise to jump to conclusions – do you?

You worry too much, Uncle, you know that? Porker replied. We'll be all right. Anyway, from what I can tell, people are pretty easy-going around here. If anything, the townsfolk seem to feel a bit sorry for me. The blokes down at the tavern can't decide whether I'm a pygmy, a very ugly dwarf, or was disfigured at birth.

Disfigured pygmy? Ugly dwarf? Really? Dave shook his head again. Well, I suppose it's as good a cover story as any. But you're right about one thing; they do seem a friendly bunch hereabouts – certainly nothing like those nutcase yokels at the last place we tried settling down in.

Porker rolled his eyes. Urgh! Don't remind me! Talk about pitchforks at dawn!

His mind flashed to images of salivating villagers who had turned out in force outside their dwelling with their pitchforks at the ready, baying for blood like a pack of rabid wolves. Not a pretty sight when you pull back the curtains of a morning.

Still in their pyjamas, the trio were chased out of their temporary accommodation and fled over the hills. By some miracle, they managed to escape their clutches, and finally came to rest in the shelter of a large oak tree, where they fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

They awoke to the sound of a pipe playing, a haunting melody wafting on the breeze. Captivated by the hypnotic tune, they rose like sleep-walkers from their grassy bed and followed the beautiful sound over the brow of the hill, where they joined a line of children who were similarly under its spell.

Next thing they knew, they were holed up in a mountain cave along with the youngsters. Turned out they were caught up in some sort of hostage situation, with the piper discussing ransom release terms with the people in a town nearby.

Talk about nightmare!

Luckily, all that's behind us now, Porker thought. They'd made their escape. And after everything they'd been through since they left the farm in the Deep West region of Oldmanland, they were now living on the heath, just outside the town of Merryvale, where circumstances seemed infinitely better. But as far as his uncle was concerned, they couldn't be too careful.

I agree that the locals are accepting of us for the most part, Tarquin said, breaking into his thoughts. And my friend Edward – Mr Lobos – has been nothing but generous in helping me to secure a home and some teaching work, but encounters with small-minded people that spiral out of control are exactly why we need to keep a low profile and be on our best behaviour, my dear boy. He raised his eyebrows to push the point home.

Porker paused for a moment and let his words sink in. It hurt him to admit it, but in the end, he knew his uncle was right. Annoyingly, he usually was.

The locals might seem friendly, Tarquin added, but it only takes one fly to spoil the ointment. And if our secret is exposed, we could easily end up on someone's dinner plate.

Dinner plate? Porker shuddered. The thought didn't conjure up a pleasant feeling at all – especially after their recent incident with the wolf. With a resigned expression, he lowered his bowl, picked his spoon back up from the fireside table, and made a show of holding it up. See, I can be civilised when I want to be!

Satisfied he'd made his point, Tarquin lit a long, thin-handled clay pipe with a firewood splint, settled back in his comfy armchair, and took a well-deserved puff. The other thing we need to remember from now on, he went on, is to keep wood on the fire at all times. We don't want to leave ourselves open to another wolf sneaking in down the chimney – not without protection. Yesterday's encounter was frightening enough for me. I'm not sure my heart could take another episode like that.

I'm sorry about that, Uncle, Dave said, giving him a contrite look. We should never have taken refuge here when the wolf blew our houses down. If we hadn't led him here, you wouldn't have had to go through all that.

Nonsense, David! What else could you have done, given the circumstances? Your very lives were at stake.

"Yes, but by coming here, we endangered your life, too."

Well, it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Tarquin replied, brushing his concern aside. And now we've got plenty of food to see us through.

Yeah, I reckon we'll be eating this broth till New Year's Day, Porker remarked.

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Huh! Not at the rate you throw it down your neck, we won't. He scooped up the dregs of broth in his bowl and let them slop off his spoon, looking disheartened. I don't want to seem ungrateful for the food that's dropped into our laps, Uncle, but I'm not sure I can stick eating this stuff for the next few weeks."

Needs must and all that, dear boy, Tarquin said adopting a stiff-upper-lip attitude. Anyway, we've been through harder times than this. We'll muddle through, don't you worry.

***

Tarquin sat back with his pipe. The truth of the matter was, he was just pleased to have his nephews under his wing again, where he could keep an eye on them. When they'd arrived on Merryvale Heath, he recalled, Dave had suggested they might be better off splitting up for a while. He, however, was most reluctant…

But I made a solemn promise to your father when he shuffled off this mortal coil that I'd look after you, he argued.

Look, for once, Uncle, I think he's right, Porker groaned. We're not kids anymore. Besides, if I spend another day around Dave, I think my head's going to explode.

Don't worry, the feelings mutual, David huffed. Look, fear not, Uncle. We can stick close by, so you'll know where we are.

Looking the two over, Tarquin was uncertain. He'd always tried to protect and encourage them, but perhaps it was time to take a step back and relinquish his guardian role.

In any case, the brothers rarely saw eye to eye, and being in such close proximity for so long since they left the animal farm, tempers had inevitably flared on more than one occasion. Their constant bickering was wearing, and quite frankly, Tarquin could use a little peace and quiet by now.

All right, we'll go our separate ways, then, he conceded, realising it was time the lads spent some time at arm's length and asserted their independence in the world. But you promise – you'll stay close by…?

The brothers agreed, and he emptied their purse and divided up what little money they had left equally before the threesome parted ways.

Heading into town, Tarquin's first port of call was to buy some new clothes. In his opinion, he was looking rather shabby these days, and if he were to find work, he needed to be well turned-out. Though it be a drain on his purse, he decided his sartorial presentation would be a wise investment and no doubt distract somewhat from his unusual looks. First impressions and all that.

After finding temporary lodgings, he ventured into the King's Arms tavern, a rather fine-looking establishment in the high street, for a bite to eat and to mull over his options. What sort of work he was likely to procure in this unknown town was a mystery, though, especially since he had a leg injury that necessitated the support of a cane to get about.

According to the landlady at his lodgings, Goldsoak, the local mine, was a big employer in the area – of dwarfs in particular – but he was neither a dwarf nor as sprightly as he once was, so he'd have to put his thinking cap on and work out what other skills he possessed that Merryvale's citizens would gladly exchange for money.

As luck would have it, he came upon a businessman who was well-known in the area. A lithe, distinguished-looking gent with tidy white hair, shrewd dark eyes, and a strong nose, Mr Lobos was immediately struck by Tarquin's refinement and level of education, which far surpassed that of most locals.

Such a man as yourself would be an asset to this up-and-coming community of ours, he remarked. You know, I have many well-to-do contacts in town and hereabouts. If you'd be interested, I could put you in touch with them, pave the way, so to speak. Many are crying out for someone to tutor their children – help them improve their Ingerlish, their reading skills and such. And they'd pay handsomely, too.

Pleased that his new friend saw his potential and didn't seem daunted by his unusual physical appearance, Tarquin heartily agreed, and on the back of his new employment, Mr Lobos was happy to loan him a sum of money with which to buy a residence. After all, such a discerning, well-presented man surely didn't plan to lodge in a backstreet boarding house indefinitely, did he?

And so it was that Tarquin commissioned the building of his dream home on a small plot of land surrounded by fields upon Merryvale Heath, just a way outside of town. A team of dwarf builders swooped in, and within no time at all, they'd built a wonderful yellow-brick dwelling. When it was finished, Tarquin chalked a makeshift sign on a piece of slate, dubbing it Elm Tree Cottage, after the grand old tree out the back. Within a few years, the place would be covered in fragrant honeysuckle, and the large garden out the back would be full of resplendent blooms, just like the pictures found on boxes of deluxe toffees.

Porker and Dave had settled within short proximity of his home, but it was with sadness that he watched their progress – or lack thereof, more like. Despite his attempts to furnish them with life skills and education over the years, they hadn't fared as well as he'd hoped.

Unsurprisingly, Porker had drunk or gambled away his share of the money he'd set off with and had only managed to cobble together some excuse of a home out of straw. He tried to make out that it was, in fact, made of cob, but who was he trying to kid? The blessed thing was more like a glorified haystack. If that wasn't bad enough, Tarquin had his suspicions that he hadn't bought the straw, either – he'd purloined some straw bales from one of the local farms. But he decided not to push him on the matter.

Thankfully, Dave was doing somewhat better. Although he hadn't been able to procure full-time employment, he'd been taking on odd handyman jobs to earn a crust, and he had a dwelling that was a darned sight more sturdy than Porker's – albeit just a basic shack made from oddments of wood, which his woodcutter friend Jake had donated to the cause, plus large sticks and tumbledown tree branches gathered from the forest. Unfortunately, however, neither dwelling was adequate protection for the harshness of winter.

Why don't you move in with me – at least until you get on your feet? Tarquin begged them whenever he went to visit. I've got a proper home now.

But both gritted their jaw and returned with the same answer: I'd rather freeze to death than live with that brother of mine again.

Tarquin's only consolation was that they'd agreed to meet up at his place every Sunday for a roast meal.

But the brothers' determination to living apart was only fleeting. Before long, a wolf came along and blew down their homes. Porker's straw dwelling was struck first – that was easy pickings for such a huge creature – and despite his perennial clashes with Dave, he wasted no time in scurrying off to his place nearby.

Hearing his desperate squeals as he ran towards his dwelling, Dave looked outside and was startled to see the wolf chasing his brother through the winter snow. Immediately, he pulled him inside, out of harm's way, and threw a batten against the door. It was just in time, too, for the wolf began battering his body against it, desperate to get in.

The place shook as he did so, but he soon gave in and instead threatened to blow their house down. It seemed such a ridiculous idea, but after a lot of huffing and puffing, they heard a worrying creak. The brothers eyed each other nervously.

Quick! Let's slip out the back! Dave urged.

Are you kidding? What if he spots us? Porker said. "I mean, have you seen his fangs?"

'Course I have, but we'll have to risk it. If he keeps this up, this place'll collapse. Come on! Throwing on his cloak, Dave yanked him by the collar, and no sooner had they made it out than his home came crashing down to the ground.

They sped to their uncle's cottage as fast as their legs would carry them. Surely they'd be safe there. But as they reached the front door, Dave glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening in horror as the sharp, slavering fangs and huge hairy body lurched towards them at a pace.

There was no way the wolf was giving up.

He was out for blood. And if they didn't get inside right now, they'd be dead meat.

Literally!

Chapter 2

Dave and Porker flew in through the door of Tarquin's cottage, breathless and alarmed.

Whatever's the matter? he asked, heart racing when he saw their expressions.

They slammed the door shut and pulled down the batten to secure it. A wolf! A wolf's coming! they cried.

Tarquin's eyebrows flew up. Heavens! Err… Quickly! Check the back door! he flustered. I just closed the wooden shutters against the cold downstairs here, but you'd better check them. They hurried about their tasks then all three retreated upstairs, where they hoped they'd be safe.

Tarquin's study was at the front of the house, and from this vantage-point, they could see the wolf trying to force the front door open, but with the batten across it, it wouldn't budge.

Filled with dread, Porker pulled the curtain shut and peeked through the gap. He's already blown our homes down, Uncle, he whimpered. Now he's trying to get in here.

Dave yanked the curtains back open. What are you doing? We can't see a thing with these closed.

That's the whole point, Porker barked back.

What, you think cowering behind a bit of material's going to protect you? We need to see where the enemy's coming if we're to stand a chance of staying away from him. He shook his head disdainfully. Flamin' plonker!

Porker's jaw clenched. Stop calling me that! If there was one thing he hated, it was being called a plonker. It was Dave's favourite word for him as they'd grown up, and the mere mention of it made his blood boil. He might as well have been calling him a loser or a blazing idiot.

I call it as I see it, Dave replied tersely.

I hardly think this is the time for one of your petty squabbles, boys – do you? Tarquin said, leaning on his cane behind them.

You're right, Dave said sheepishly. Sorry, Uncle… Anyway, you can be sure that wolf won't get in. The place is locked up tighter than a drum.

He leaned forward, all the better to get a good look at the creature and anticipate his next move. Its eyes were a brilliant blue that seemed to glow with his anger, and he was pacing up and down now, as though frantically thinking of a way to get in.

Dave frowned. Hmm… That's strange.

What is? Porker asked.

Well, I've never seen a wolf with blue eyes before. And look at him, he's walking on two legs instead of four – just like us.

Porker peered out of the lattice window. Oh, yeah.

Tarquin stepped forward, squeezing in between them. Strange, indeed. His deep brown eyes narrowed. Perhaps he's trying to make himself look taller and more fearsome – like bears do when they want to threaten someone.

Hmm… I didn't think of that, Dave said. Although, now I come to think of it, that's not the only weird thing he's been up to.

Oh?

Back at my place, he was bellowing out threats, all in plain Ingerlish, too – wasn't he Porker?

Hey, yeah, Porker replied. I didn't think anything of it at the time.

Tarquin's brow furrowed. Most curious… But perhaps he's not speaking Ingerlish at all.

How do you mean? Dave enquired.

Well, perhaps we simply have the ability to understand the creature – being a fellow member of the animal kingdom, I mean, Tarquin suggested. After all, we used to understand all the other animals back at our old farm, didn't we? We would've sworn they spoke the same language as us.

Dave nodded. You're right. That must be it.

Just then, the wolf's chest blew up like a giant balloon, and he began huffing and puffing, exactly as he'd done before.

"He doesn't seriously think he's got enough puff to blow this place down, does he?" Dave jeered.

Indeed, Tarquin agreed. Methinks the creature has more brawn than brains… Mind you, I wouldn't get too confident. If he finds some other means of entry...

Porker shuddered. After a tense few minutes, however, he jabbed a trotter towards the wolf. Ha! We're in no danger from him. Look! He's clean out of puff.

Yeah, just look at his tongue hanging out, Dave laughed. He'll collapse from exhaustion if he keeps this up.

Finally, the wolf turned tail and sauntered off. Porker let out a joyous whoop. "Ha! I think we've found out who the real plonker is around here. He's had enough! He's going home!"

By now, Tarquin was mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Thank goodness for that! This place may be made of solid brick, but still…

Crikey! You don't half look pale, Uncle. Dave took his arm. Come on. Let's get you downstairs where you can have a sit-down.

Tarquin nodded slowly. Yes, you're right, my boy. I could feel my heart hammering away in my chest for a while there… Not a pleasant feeling, I can tell you.

I'll put the kettle on, eh? Dave added. You'll be right as rain before you know it.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last they saw of the wolf, because the very next day, he made a return visit. Quickly, they secured the downstairs area, but as they spotted the wolf attempting to scale the cottage, it became clear that he had a different plan of attack this time around.

Crikey! What the hell's he doing? Porker cried.

I don't know, Tarquin said. But quickly! Go upstairs and pull all the shutters across the windows.

The brothers hurried to do as he bid, but Dave soon realised what the wolf had in mind. Suffering scorpions! I think he's headed for the chimney!

Swiftly, he ran downstairs and over to the hearth. As luck would have it, a cauldron of bathing water was just coming to the boil on the fire, but he threw on more firewood for good measure. If that wolf is stupid enough to come down the chimney, he'll get a surprise and a half!

Soon the others joined him, yet despite the warning signal of smoke rising from the chimney, the foolish wolf was determined and forced his way down.

The pigs leapt back as the creature collapsed into the cauldron with a hard splash. He let out an agonising scream, desperate to scramble out, but the scalding water seemed to take him down and consume him, as though it possessed claws like demons, dragging him down into the fiery pits of hell itself.

The sight was so horrific, the pigs had to look away, but soon enough, the spectacle was over and all that was left was an uncomfortable stillness. The wolf had got his comeuppance.

Tarquin held his chest as they looked at each other. My word! That was close.

"Too close," Porker said.

Dave took Tarquin's arm, anxious that he shouldn't overexert himself. Come on, Uncle. Sit yourself down and rest. He helped him into his armchair. Look, put your feet up and I'll make you a nice cup of tea, eh?

Porker looked at him askance. We've just killed a wolf and you're having a tea party?

Dave threw him an irritated look. "I'm just trying to get Uncle to relax, that's all. Anyway, we didn't kill the wolf – he did that to himself."

Porker scowled. Whatever! But we can't leave it here, can we? I mean, what are we going to do with it? Turn it into broth? he said sarcastically.

Broth, very funny! Dave replied. Mind you, you're right about needing to move him.

Tarquin piped up then. You know, I think Darwood… sorry… Porker has come up with a splendid idea.

Dave looked puzzled. Eh?

Turning him into broth, I mean, Tarquin replied.

Dave and Porker shared glances. Is he kidding?

Dave frowned. But, Uncle, we can't eat the thing. We're supposed to be vegetarian.

Well, we've had to adapt to circumstance before, and it seems a shame to waste what's dropped into our laps, Tarquin shrugged. Besides, now that you two will be living here for a while, we'll need to make the pennies stretch a bit.

Porker frowned. Make the pennies stretch? I thought you were loaded. I mean, didn't you get a great big loan from that rich fella Lobos?

Indeed I did. But where do you think the money went? Why, on building this place, of course, came the reply. I was planning on buying a horse and buggy with what I had left over, so I could get around to do my teaching work, but now that you two are here, I think I'd better hold off. I don't want to leave myself short, do I? You two will need food and clothing – just until you get on your feet again. And I have to pay my loan money back, of course.

Look, we can't keep getting handouts from you, Uncle, Dave said. You already gave us some money last night to tide us over.

I've already spent mine, Porker said.

Dave blinked in disbelief. Seriously? I know our little encounter with the wolf yesterday put the wind up you, but surely you didn't feel the need to spend the lot on booze at the tavern last night…?

Look, it wasn't my fault. One of my mates is getting married, Porker lied. I mean, I had to get a few rounds in, didn't I? It was his stag night.

Dave raised an eyebrow. Hmm… A likely story.

Tarquin patted them down. Now, now. Let's be fair and give Darwood… Porker the benefit of the doubt – hey, David?

Yeah, all right, he replied unenthusiastically. "Anyway, you shouldn't need to give me too many handouts. I'm earning a bit with my handyman jobs now, and I'm sure Porker will find work soon enough. Dave pierced him a look. Won't you, brother?"

Porker rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah… Yeah. 'Course I will.

Right then, now that we've cleared that up, Dave said, I'll put the kettle on for that cuppa of yours, Uncle. And brother dearest can help me make this broth.

Porker looked incredulous. What, me? I'm no cook.

Well, you're the one that came up with the idea in the first place, Dave argued. "So I don't see why I should chop the whole thing up on my own. Turns my stomach just thinking about it."

How's about we draw straws? Porker suggested.

Dave blew out. Oh, all right, then. But if you think I'm going to try heaving that pot outside on my own, you've got another thing coming. So once I've tamped the fire out and everything's cooled down a bit, you'll help out – right?

Porker flitted a glance at his uncle then stuffed his trotters into his pockets. Fair enough.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to the pigs, the demise of the wolf had unleashed a sinister chain of events. And later, as they sat by a cosy fire eating a hearty broth, they were completely oblivious to the perils that fate had waiting in store for them.

Merryvale had held out such a bright hope for their future, but within a few short weeks, their lives would never be the same again.

Chapter 3

Lobos Manor

20th December

Hearing his study door open, the distinguished Mr Lobos looked up from the paperwork on his oak desk and over the rim of his spectacles to see his daughter standing there in her usual immaculate glory, wearing a satin midnight-blue dress, her chestnut-black hair tamed into a tight bun. Following closely behind was her loyal companion, a large muscular hellhound, the colour of night.

Ah, Virginia! You're back. Good. I was hoping we could have a quiet word.

A finely plucked eyebrow raised as she picked up on his tone of concern. Certainly, Father.

And leave Rex outside, would you? he added.

Ushering the dog outside, Virginia closed the door and went over to the desk. Yes, Father?

Mr Lobos put down his quill. No point beating about the bush, Virginia, he said briskly. I've had rather a disturbing call on the magiphone today from Alistair, my right hand man in the city. He tells me he attended your meeting with the workers at the shoe factory over in Cobbletown. Apparently, they're trying to negotiate double pay for the Christmastide period, but you've refused to budge. I get the impression that didn't go down too well…?

Virginia stiffened. That's right. But I'm handling it.

Mr Lobos sat back in his black leather chair, clasping his fingers together. Virginia, dear, have I taught you nothing? My forebears built a solid profit-making business empire, and that is something to be truly proud of, but without our workers, we are nothing. In my opinion, there is no point to commerce if it's devoid of humanity, and ever since my father passed on, I've aimed to live by my motto: profit with heart.

Virginia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Not this old speech again!

When I discovered that elves had a talent for shoe-making, I opened the Well-Heeled Shoe Company – one of my earliest ventures, Mr Lobos went on. But life at the factory wasn't without its teething problems. The elves insisted on working only at night, when everyone else was asleep. It seemed a little unconventional, but instead of railing against them, I listened and went away to ponder on a solution. In the end, I agreed to let them have their way and brought in a swathe of dwarfs to work the day shift. The elves were more than happy to train them. It was a win-win situation. More people ended up being employed, and output increased. Our shoe factories never sleep. Everyone's happy. And today, it's a leading industry in our great nation of Oldmanland.

Virginia put a hand on her hip. And what, precisely, are you trying to convey with this little trip down memory lane, Father?

Isn't it obvious? Alistair tells me you won't even entertain the workers' pleas. He has it on good authority that they were most put out by your attitude. They're threatening to go on strike if you don't hear them out. You know as well as I do that they work harder at Christmastide than at any other time of year, Virginia – our yuletide fairy slippers are a top seller – so I can well understand why they'd want double pay.

Virginia's jaw tightened. Alistair! The snitch. Reporting everything back like some tiddle-tatting child. He's as bad as Father, wanting to kowtow to those wretched workers. Can't they see they're going to bleed the business dry? But the workers get bonuses to cover their extra efforts, she argued.

That's as maybe, Virginia. But times are changing. People's standards of living are slowly rising, and everyone expects more, he said firmly.

Noting her stony response, he removed his spectacles and let out a sigh. "Look, I'm not suggesting you just roll over and give them double pay, Virginia, but you could at least attempt to reach a middle ground. Perhaps you could negotiate a rise in their bonuses or suggest they get paid time and a half, I don't know, he shrugged. One thing you simply cannot do, however, is refuse to take their request on board. Workers are the lifeblood of any business. Our aim is to make a profit, of course, but not to the detriment of those who do the heavy lifting."

Her expression was unwavering. I see.

"Do you? Do you really, Virginia? Her father drew a deep breath and shook his head. I don't know. After your brother Samuel died, I tried to give you plenty of room to run our family businesses as you saw fit while I put some time aside to indulge in my philanthropic projects. And on the whole, you've done a stellar job, I must say. You're a hard worker and sharp-witted to boot. But what's happened to your heart, child?"

Virginia stepped forward to protest. Father, I…

He put up a hand to cut her off, his expression pained. Please, hear me out, Virginia! I'm reluctant to say this, but ever since… ever since Brandon… he said hesitantly. Well, let's just say you've changed. You used to laugh and wear such gay colours, but you've hardened, shut down.

Virginia's dark eyes flashed at the mention of his name, but her father had tiptoed around the subject for far too long.

And quite frankly, these reports I've been getting back lately from Alistair are more than a little troubling, I can tell you, he added.

Virginia folded her arms. Look, if it'll make you happy, I'll arrange another meeting with the workers, and we'll come to some arrangement, she said stiffly.

It's not just about making me happy, Virginia, he replied. Think on what I said, will you? Business is not just about providing for customers, it's about giving something back to the community. Besides, it's Christmastide, and a little kindness goes a long way. This is the time for giving. So be of good cheer.

Despite her resistance, she forced herself to give a nod of accord. Very well, Father. Will that be all?

As a matter of fact, I've been wondering if you've come to a decision about Mr Rumbelow yet.

Virginia looked uncomfortable. Hell's bells! His marriage proposal! How am I going to wriggle out of this? She'd already refused two suitors her father had set her up with, and she was fast running out of plausible excuses. How long can I keep this up before he loses all patience with me?

Mr Rumbelow…? She smoothed a hand over her hair. Err… Actually, no. I'm sorry. It's been so busy with work, what with Christmastide approaching, he's been but a speck on the horizon, I'm afraid.

Mr Lobos gave her a sturdy look. Well, you might think about bringing him closer into your sights in the new year – once the busy season is over… hmm? We can't put him off forever, you know.

As you wish, Father, she said with a curt nod.

Her lacklustre response wasn't lost on him, but he decided against taking her to task on the matter for the time being. Well, let's get Christmastide over with, shall we? If he's worth his salt, he'll be happy to wait a little longer. Besides, if you say yes, it will be our last family Christmastide together – just you, me, and your brother Peter. So we should make the most of it, eh?

Huh! A perfect little family get-together. Wouldn't want to spoil that, now, would we? Of course, she replied simply.

Well, Virginia, I'm glad we had this little chat, Mr Lobos said, attempting a smile. I do hope you'll think on things… In the meantime, know that I plan on speaking with your brother. I've given him more than a little leeway since Samuel's passing, but I think it's about time he put childish pursuits aside and stepped up to the line.

Virginia looked incredulous. "Come, now! You're not seriously going to bring Peter in to help run the family businesses, are you? He came in and dabbled before, but let's face it, he hasn't got the first clue about such things."

He didn't need to reply. Virginia could already read his mind. "Oh, my God. You're thinking of putting him in charge instead of me, aren't you?"

Her father raised a hand. Now, now, Virginia! This is no reflection on you. I simply want Peter to take his turn as son and heir, that's all.

Her jaw clenched bitterly. Son and heir, my eye! He just wants me married off, settled down, and popping out a bunch of ankle-biters so he can have a male running the show again. Well, I'll be damned if I'm playing that game!

A moment later, her face softened and she threw him a coy look. It was time for a different tactic. Look, I didn't want to tell you any of this, Father – I know how upset you get – but…

Come on, girl, spit it out, he said.

"Well… you do know your precious son's been pestering some of the locals again, don't you?"

Mr Lobos's brow creased. "What? Are you sure? I thought he'd stopped all that nonsense."

Apparently not. According to one of the servants, he's been out gallivanting and destroyed a couple of dwellings. Admittedly, they were poorly constructed, but even so… He's clearly gone off the rails.

Her father could hardly believe his ears. But I thought… His medicine…

Virginia shrugged. "It's obvious he didn't take it again. I mean, if he had, would he have stripped off all his clothes and changed into a wolf – and in broad daylight, too? I don't think so!"

Mr Lobos put his head in his hands, despairing. My God! Was anyone hurt?

Not that I know of, she replied.

He looked up, relieved. Well, that's something to be grateful for, at least.

Look, Father, you may want a son and heir to run your business empire, but do you really think it wise to put someone like that in charge? He's no better than Sam.

If you please, Virginia, try not to speak ill of the dead, will you? Samuel's not here to defend himself. Anyway, we can't do much about him now, but Peter's still very much alive. He may still come around.

She stepped forward to speak, but her father raised his hand again. Please, Virginia, he sighed, I couldn't bear another argument. My mind is made up. Just tell Peter I want a word with him, will you? he said weakly.

Realising her efforts to get through to him weren't doomed to frustration, she nodded reluctantly. Very well.

And could you ask Janet to bring me a sandwich… oh, and a pot of tea, please? I'm rather parched.

Janet's not here, she replied.

Not here?

I've sent the house servants home for the day.

He frowned. Whatever for?

She shrugged. They were surplus to requirements. There's no point spending money on things we don't need.

He returned with a look of consternation. Surplus to requirements, my dear? But it's still early. Besides, the people that work for us are relying on us, relying on the income. And we can easily afford to keep them on.

"That's not the point, Father. We're not a charity, she countered. Every hour they work for us, money is drained from our family fortune. Just like those philanthropic concerns of yours."

Is that so? Well, while I'm alive, that family fortune is mine to do with as I please, he said irritably. "And I say you're overreacting. We can well afford to keep our staff on full-time hours… In any case, who, do you suppose, is going to cook for us tonight?"

Virginia let out another shrug. There's plenty of soup left from last night. It'll take but moments to reheat.

He slumped back into his chair. Goodness me! Has nothing I've said gotten through to you? He pinched his weary brow. "Look, Virginia, I'm not getting any younger – an unfortunate side effect exacerbated by my medicine, as you well know – so if you don't mind, I'd like to spend my final years paying something forward, helping to build a better community and not worrying whether every move I make or every venture I'm involved with will turn a profit… Besides, when I'm gone, there'll be