When they reached the small, brick-built shelter, it was padlocked. Mick Smith stood back in admiration as Ophelia Tate bludgeoned the lock with the butt of her revolver, then ripped the door off its hinges. Her eyes shining, she grinned in triumph at Mick, and without a word he followed her into the musty darkness.

“Phew, you’re gonna have a big flasher tomorrow,” said Woody as he helped Nat sit up.

“You mean shiner,” said Nat, wincing as he touched the spot where his face had collided with the bed frame. “That went well. What are we going to do now?”

Woody shrugged glumly. “Dunno. What d’you think they’re going to do to us?”

Nat shook his head in defeat. From where he was sitting it didn’t look good, for him especially. Proteus had what they wanted, and he, Nat, was surplus to requirements.

Woody sat down next to him. He could smell Nat’s fear and felt responsible.

“I … I could tell you a joke if you want,” he said shyly. “It’s really funny.”

“OK,” said Nat, brightening, “go on.”

“Here goes,” said Woody, taking a deep breath. “I used to be a werewolf, but I’m all right noooooOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

“That was terrible,” said Nat in disgust, “and too loud. My head hurts.”

“Sorry,” apologized Woody. “Your turn.”

Nat thought for a minute. “OK, I got a good one. A polar bear goes into the post office. He goes up to the counter and says, ‘I’d like some … … …. stamps, please.’

The post office lady says, ‘Of course, but why the big pause?’ The polar bear says, ‘I dunno, I’ve always had them.’”

Woody looked puzzled. “I don’t geddit.”

Nat sighed wearily. “Paws?” he held up his hand. “Not pause — paws!”

“Nope,” said Woody, shaking his head, “still don’t geddit.”

Nat struggled to his feet. “I promise I’ll explain if we ever get out of here. Got any ideas?”

“If Scale comes back alone, we’ll take him by surprise,” suggested Woody.

Nat thought for a minute. “If you could change into Wolven form,” he said, “you could knock him over, then we could make a run for it. What d’you think?”

Woody looked doubtful. “I could try, but I still can’t always do it.”

Nat grimaced. Woody was right: His control was improving, but how many times had it gone wrong? Nat remembered the half-boy, half-wolf occasion at the fair and, worse, the weird melting incident. He put his head in his hands in despair.

“Then I think we’re done for,” he said tiredly. “What else you got?”

As Woody thought for a moment, a small smile formed on his face. “There is something….”

Nat looked up expectantly. “Go on.”

“Remember I told you I learned most of what I know from TV and telepathy?”

Nat nodded impatiently. “Yeah, from Jeopardy! and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.”