“We know that now,” agreed Iona, “but in those days life was very different: brutal and short. If the kings of the time declared war, their subjects had no choice but to follow. After the last Crusade, in gratitude for their loyal service to the Crowns of England, the Wolven were guaranteed safe passage for the rest of their lives. They were absorbed into the woods and the forests, living as wolves, preferring a simpler life. Then all knowledge of them died, and they became the stuff of legend only; stories passed down from generation to generation, gradually fading away. And now, I have a living, breathing legend sitting on my sofa!”

“But what now?” asked the living, breathing legend. “Crescent told us … you know who’s hunting me?”

Iona went pale. “What do you know about Proteus?” she asked.

“Nothing,” admitted Nat, “apart from the fact that Woody has it tattooed on the back of his neck.”

“Is Proteus c … coming to get me?” Woody’s voice quaked.

“Proteus isn’t a man,” said Iona grimly. “Proteus is a government project.”

CHAPTER 12
THE PROTEUS FILES

“The original Proteus project was just a study program,” explained Iona, pouring tea from a delicate china teapot. “Help yourselves, boys,” she added, gesturing to the delicious-looking pile of sandwiches and cakes she had put on the table.

Nat dug Woody in the ribs. “Saliva check,” he hissed.

“‘Scuse me?” asked Woody, eyeing the food hungrily.

“You’re drooling,” said Nat, hoping Iona hadn’t noticed the strings of dribble threatening to drop onto her sofa.

“The project studied shape-shifting beings,” Iona went on. “Werewolves, as you would call them. It examined men, and very occasionally women, who were afflicted by lycanthropy, which, as you know, is the ability to change into wolves.”

“So what has it got to do with Woody?” asked Nat, helping himself to a piece of cake. “He’s not a werewolf.”

“The head of the project was a man named Professor Robert Paxton, a brilliant scientist who had devoted his life to studying shape-shifting beings. Years ago, when I became involved with Proteus, I shared his fascination with the legend of the King’s Wolven. Sir William’s chronicle helped us to locate them.”

Woody, who had been sniffing each individual sandwich, stopped abruptly. “You found my … clan?”

Iona nodded. “Professor Paxton spent several months with them, and learned that everything Sir William had written was true. Then he made a terrible mistake. He brought the younger members of the clan here to Somerset, to Helleborine Halt, where they agreed to be studied for one month only.”

“And he went back on his word?” guessed Nat.

“No!” said Iona, shaking her head vehemently. “The Wolven were betrayed by a man named Dr. Gabriel Gruber.”

“Never heard of him,” said Nat, with his mouth full. “Is he the one looking for Woody?”

Iona got up from the sofa. “Among others,” she said mysteriously. “I’ll show you.”