The Prime Minister groaned again. “What color crisis?”

“A red one, sir,” said Crone. “I’ll pick you up in five.”

In the bowels of Helleborine Halt, the phosphorus was going off like clumps of small but effective bombs.

The security cameras continued to whirl like dervishes, relaying their ten-second snippets all around the Halt: from the werewolves, now fully alert, nostrils flaring at the smell of danger and phosphorus; to the laboratory, where Dr. Gabriel Gruber was teetering on the edge of another tantrum.

“Have you found those twins yet?” he shouted at the surveillance cameras.

The cameras flipped obligingly to a beautifully distinct color shot of Angelo Spaghetti and Nat Carver approaching the laboratory. Gabriel stared at the screen in pure shock. Behind Angelo and the Carver child there was a strange man. Disturbingly, he appeared to be armed with two enormous swords.

The worst enemies are always those with nothing left to lose, and Gabriel, although absolutely barking mad, was not a stupid man. When he had calmed down enough to assess this new and rather worrying situation, he realized with sickening clarity that the Spaghetti brothers and the Wolven fitted into this category perfectly. For some reason, which he had never been able to fathom, people became very unreasonable at these times. He took a deep breath and told himself things were going to be just fine. When the uninvited guests burst through the doors, he was gratified to note they looked scared witless.

“OK,” drawled Gabriel, smiling, his hands outstretched as if in welcome. “I’m sensing this is some kind of mutiny?”

Angelo Spaghetti ignored the question. “Dr. Gruber,” he said formally, “in approximately sixty seconds, your laboratory will be filled with slavering werewolves. This is your last and only chance to remove yourself and” — Angelo threw a look of contempt at Scale — “your staff.”

“My dear Angelo …,” started Gabriel. He was interrupted by a violent explosion from below, which made him grip Scale’s arm for support.

“Listen — that’s your cellars blowing up!” shouted Nat. “Pretty soon the fires will reach the next level.”

“You really are beginning to annoy me,” said Gabriel, the ugly vein beginning to throb in his temple. “Why couldn’t you just have stayed at home and played with your toys like a normal kid?”

“Because Woody is my best friend!” shouted Nat.

“Correction.” Gabriel grinned. “Woody was your best friend. Past tense, I’m afraid.”

“He’s lying,” growled Angelo. “He wouldn’t kill the sole surviving Wolven. But the kid’s right, Gruber; the fires have started to creep.”

“Then the sprinklers will kick in,” replied Gabriel, still grinning maniacally, “and you, Angelo, will have signed your own death warrant.”