hand towel and the only soap was a
bottle of dog shampoo. Surely it was a conspiracy?
Shivering, he stepped inside the shower and pulled
the curtain shut. He turned on the taps and yelped as
the icy water splashed onto him. With many a squeak
and squeal, he jumped in and out of the water. At last
it became slightly warm and he managed to stick his
head under to wash off the spinach. He rubbed the
dog shampoo in his hair.
'Urgh!' It smelt like the worst, pongiest puke.
'Ow – ow – it hurts!'
The shampoo was in his eyes. Before he could wash
it out the water stopped. He heard a squeal of piggy
laughter. Harriet had outwitted him again!
He reached blindly for the towel and fell into the
shower curtain.
'Ow!' he yelped as it pinged off its little plastic
hooks and he fell onto the cold stone floor. He rolled
around, the soap stinging his eyes and his feet slipping.
He just managed to reach up and grab the towel. He
was wiping his face when the door burst open and
in leapt Chariot with a camera. Freddy was lying on
the floor tied up in the curtain, but a skinny buttock
complete with a Blavendoch birthmark was exposed.
With a scream of triumph, Chariot took a photo and
slammed out again.
'No way!' Freddy roared. 'I'm going to chop you
into piggly pieces and post you to boggart's bottom!'
He clambered up and looked around for his clothes.
They had gone!
He stood dripping in the freezing room, unable to
believe the extent of the twins' evil genius.
'You bring my stuff back right now, or I'll,
I'll . . . I'll show you!' All he heard in reply was the
twins' gurgling laughter fading into the distance.
Freddy looked in despair at the tiny towel – it
wouldn't even go around his waist. He wrapped himself
in the shower curtain and hoped for a miracle.
It came. Ginger knocked at the door. 'Hey Freddy,
what are you doing? It's time for class.'
Freddy explained his predicament.
'Oh, no problem, wait two seconds.' The girl
laughed and skipped away.
It seemed more like ten minutes to Freddy, as he
shivered in the cold.
'What took you so long?' he said grumpily, when
her cheerful voice rang out again.
'Trying to find you some clothes, of course. Here
you go – not looking.' Ginger opened the door and
threw in the garments.
'You've got to be joking! I am not wearing a skirt!'
he cried, holding up the tartan kilt.
'It's no' a skirt, foolie,' scoffed Ginger. 'It's a
highlander clan warrior's kilt! It was Dougal's when he
was a wee boy. That's Hunting MacLeod tartan – it's an
honour for you to wear it.'
'Highland warrior?' Freddy's eyes brightened.
'Hunting MacLeod?'
Well, this was more like it.
'Okay! Let's rock!' He laughed and changed into
his new clothes.
'Hurry though, don't make Madam any crosser,'
Ginger called and sprinted back to the studio.
Freddy had to pause several times to admire himself
in the various mirrors scattered about the hallways as
he walked to the studio. Although not one to brag,
he had to admit that he looked rather heroic and
impressive. He even had a little silver dagger, which
he pulled out of a sock and waved at his reflection
with a snarl.
So much for the twins' efforts to defeat him.
All the ballerinas except Priscilla gasped with
admiration when he strutted into the room. He fired
his fingers at them like pistols. Ginger laughed, but
the twins were obviously dismayed that their trick
had backfired so badly.
Priscilla, who had been putting the girls through
their exercises as they waited for Madam, paused,
her arms in a perfect circle above her head. Her
eyes narrowed at him. Freddy only grinned in reply.
Priscilla's eyes moved to Ginger, who was limping into
line with the other ballerinas.
'And just what do you think you are doing?' Priscilla
hissed at her.
'The same as everyone else: dancing,' the smaller
girl replied.
'Not with me, Clip-Clop. Dancers have to be perfect.'
'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names
bottle of dog shampoo. Surely it was a conspiracy?
Shivering, he stepped inside the shower and pulled
the curtain shut. He turned on the taps and yelped as
the icy water splashed onto him. With many a squeak
and squeal, he jumped in and out of the water. At last
it became slightly warm and he managed to stick his
head under to wash off the spinach. He rubbed the
dog shampoo in his hair.
'Urgh!' It smelt like the worst, pongiest puke.
'Ow – ow – it hurts!'
The shampoo was in his eyes. Before he could wash
it out the water stopped. He heard a squeal of piggy
laughter. Harriet had outwitted him again!
He reached blindly for the towel and fell into the
shower curtain.
'Ow!' he yelped as it pinged off its little plastic
hooks and he fell onto the cold stone floor. He rolled
around, the soap stinging his eyes and his feet slipping.
He just managed to reach up and grab the towel. He
was wiping his face when the door burst open and
in leapt Chariot with a camera. Freddy was lying on
the floor tied up in the curtain, but a skinny buttock
complete with a Blavendoch birthmark was exposed.
With a scream of triumph, Chariot took a photo and
slammed out again.
'No way!' Freddy roared. 'I'm going to chop you
into piggly pieces and post you to boggart's bottom!'
He clambered up and looked around for his clothes.
They had gone!
He stood dripping in the freezing room, unable to
believe the extent of the twins' evil genius.
'You bring my stuff back right now, or I'll,
I'll . . . I'll show you!' All he heard in reply was the
twins' gurgling laughter fading into the distance.
Freddy looked in despair at the tiny towel – it
wouldn't even go around his waist. He wrapped himself
in the shower curtain and hoped for a miracle.
It came. Ginger knocked at the door. 'Hey Freddy,
what are you doing? It's time for class.'
Freddy explained his predicament.
'Oh, no problem, wait two seconds.' The girl
laughed and skipped away.
It seemed more like ten minutes to Freddy, as he
shivered in the cold.
'What took you so long?' he said grumpily, when
her cheerful voice rang out again.
'Trying to find you some clothes, of course. Here
you go – not looking.' Ginger opened the door and
threw in the garments.
'You've got to be joking! I am not wearing a skirt!'
he cried, holding up the tartan kilt.
'It's no' a skirt, foolie,' scoffed Ginger. 'It's a
highlander clan warrior's kilt! It was Dougal's when he
was a wee boy. That's Hunting MacLeod tartan – it's an
honour for you to wear it.'
'Highland warrior?' Freddy's eyes brightened.
'Hunting MacLeod?'
Well, this was more like it.
'Okay! Let's rock!' He laughed and changed into
his new clothes.
'Hurry though, don't make Madam any crosser,'
Ginger called and sprinted back to the studio.
Freddy had to pause several times to admire himself
in the various mirrors scattered about the hallways as
he walked to the studio. Although not one to brag,
he had to admit that he looked rather heroic and
impressive. He even had a little silver dagger, which
he pulled out of a sock and waved at his reflection
with a snarl.
So much for the twins' efforts to defeat him.
All the ballerinas except Priscilla gasped with
admiration when he strutted into the room. He fired
his fingers at them like pistols. Ginger laughed, but
the twins were obviously dismayed that their trick
had backfired so badly.
Priscilla, who had been putting the girls through
their exercises as they waited for Madam, paused,
her arms in a perfect circle above her head. Her
eyes narrowed at him. Freddy only grinned in reply.
Priscilla's eyes moved to Ginger, who was limping into
line with the other ballerinas.
'And just what do you think you are doing?' Priscilla
hissed at her.
'The same as everyone else: dancing,' the smaller
girl replied.
'Not with me, Clip-Clop. Dancers have to be perfect.'
'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names
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