“Hardly any time at all,” said Windle, relieved at the change of tone. “I must say it’s turning out to be different than I imagined.”
“You get used to it,” said Arthur Winkings, alias Count Notfaroutoe, gloomily. “That’s the thing about being undead. It’s as easy as falling off a cliff. We’re all undead here.”
Lupine coughed.
“Except Lupine,” said Arthur.
“I’m more what you might call honorary undead,” said Lupine.
“Him being a werewolf,” explained Arthur.
“I thought he was a werewolf as soon as I saw him,” said Windle, nodding.
“Every full moon,” said Lupine. “Regular.”
“You start howling and growing hair,” said Windle.
They all shook their heads.
“Er, no,” said Lupine. “I more sort of stop howling and some of my hair temporarily falls out. It’s bloody embarrassing.”
“But I thought at the full moon your basic werewolf always—”
“Lupine’s problem,” said Doreen, “is that he approaches it from ze ozzer way, you see.”
“I’m technically a wolf,” said Lupine. “Ridiculous, really. Every full moon I turn into a wolf-man. The rest of the time I’m just a…wolf.”
“Good grief,” said Windle. “That must be a terrible problem.”
“The trousers are the worst part,” said Lupine.
“Er…they are?”
“Oh, yeah. See, it’s all right for human werewolves. They just keep their own clothes on. I mean, they might get a bit ripped, but at least they’ve got them handy on, right? Whereas if I see the full moon, next minute I’m walking and talking and I’m definitely in big trouble on account of being very deficient in the trousery vicinity. So I have to keep a pair stashed somewhere. Mr. Shoe—”
“—call me Reg—”
“—lets me keep a pair where he works.”
“I work at the mortuary on Elm Street,” said Mr. Shoe. “I’m not ashamed. It’s worth it to save a brother or sister.”
“Sorry?” said Windle. “Save?”
“It’s me that pins the card on the bottom of the lid,” said Mr. Shoe. “You never know. It has to be worth a try.”
“Does it often work?” said Windle. He looked around the room. His tone must have suggested that it was a reasonably large room, and had only eight people in it; nine if you included the voice from under the chair, which presumably belonged to a person.
Doreen and Arthur exchanged glances.
“It vorked for Artore,” said Doreen.
“Excuse me,” said Windle, “I couldn’t help wondering…are you two…er…vampires, by any chance?”
“’S’right,” said Arthur. “More’s the pity.”
“Hah! You should not tvalk like zat,” said Doreen haughtily. “You should be prout of your noble lineage.”
“Prout?” said Arthur.