A white man wearing khaki shorts and shirt with a solar helmet stepped cautiously into the road. A rickshaw came to a halt near him. Poor devil, the man thought, watching the rickshaw man stand there, sweating and breathing hard. The occupant of the rickshaw glared at him. The man ignored him and crossed the road. On the other side of the road was a tiny, dingy shop squashed between two bigger shops. One had a Chinaman selling silks and the other was a seedy restaurant. A sign above the shop said, “Marco Polwatte, Erratic Travels. See the Island.” The white man’s brow crinkled. He walked into the shop. “Um,” he began. There was a native standing in the middle of the shop. He was taller than the white man, and the white man was 6 feet 2 inches. He raised one eyebrow at the white man, who felt strangely intimidated. “I’m Julius Mandeville and um… I was told that you….Did you know your sign is spelt wrong?”
The native smiled. “Of course. And then people come in because they want to enlighten the poor heathen, so they are happy, and I- I have a new customer!” “ Oh.” said Mandeville. He had not thought of that. “What was it you wanted anyway?” Polwatte asked. “To see any curious things that I can here in the city. I’m opening a museum.” Mandeville replied.
“Hmm…. Interesting things in the city…. Well…. Oh, let me introduce myself. I’m Marco Polwatte.  What’s the distance limit for these curious things?” “I’m not particular,” Mandeville said.
“There are the Wolves,” Polwatte said. “Would you like to see the wolves?”
“What wolves?” asked Mandeville, in surprise. “I didn’t know there were any wolves in Ceylon.” “Well, there are. In Wolvendaal. Do you want a specimen?”
Mandeville grinned. “That would be perfect. If I’m not endangering the species, that is.”
“Oh no. You’d be doing a service by killing one. They kill at least one person a year. Ferocious animals, they are.”
“What should I need?”
“Rifle, ummm….that’s all…you know, water and stuff. Yes, that’s all.”
“And, er, what about expenses?” Mandeville asked. “Never mind about that. I’ve always wanted a crack at these wolves myself. And you happen to be the first person who hasn’t asked for stupid tours ‘of Major Skinner’s Roads’ and other such things of no value.” 

Mandeville met Polwatte at the previously-agreed time the next day, and rode to Wolvendaal in a bullock cart. There was a stone church at the edge of the valley. It wasn’t so much a valley as a glorified hollow, really. The carter refused to take them closer than a hundred metres to the church, so they jumped down, paid him, and set off towards the church.
The church was empty. “They’re scared of the wolves,” Polwatte said. There was a small cemetery outside the church. Polwatte crossed to a gravestone and scraped some moss off. The gravestone said, “Joachim van Wyk, grievously mauled unto death by the Wolves of Wolvendaal this 11th of October Anno Domini 1798. Suffer the little children to come unto Me.”
Mandeville gulped. Polwatte resettled his musket on his shoulder and motioned with his head towards the end of the cemetery, where trees and undergrowth grew on the slope that led down to the actual Valley of the Wolves.
Polwatte led the way to the edge of the slope. He motioned to Mandeville to listen. From far away came the eerie, mournful sound of a wolf baying. Little shivers of fear ran up and down Mandeville’s spine. “Let’s go down!’ he hissed.
Polwatte grinned. He led the way down into the valley. It was dark since the trees blocked out the morning sun. This lent a mysterious spookiness to the scene. “Where are they?” Mandeville whispered.
“It’s a small valley. We’ll meet them sooner or later.” Polwatte replied.
A Snarl from their left told them that it would be sooner rather than later. Mandeville sprang around to face the sound. “We should have stayed on the slope…advantage of height…” Polwatte groaned. “Too late,” Mandeville said, curtly, not taking his eyes away from the direction from which the snarl had come.
“Try to get your back to a tree,” Polwatte advised.
A dark shape slunk out from the undergrowth to the shadow of another tree. Both men backed up until they felt the reassuring bark of a tree behind them. Then they heard the far-from-reassuring bark of the wolf in front of them. Polwatte unslung his musket and raised it to his shoulder. Mandeville removed the safety catch on his rifle and aimed it. Another form joined the first. “You take that one, I’ll take this.” Polwatte said, motioning towards the left hand wolf.
The first wolf sprang towards them. Polwatte shot him through the leg. “Put a bullet in his heart or brain!” he yelled at Mandeville, who did. The other wolf howled and leapt at them, but Polwatte swung aside and hauled himself onto the branch of the tree. The wolf growled ferociously and futilely tried to claw him off the tree. Then he turned his attention to Mandeville. Mandeville brought his now-empty rifle down onto the wolf’s muzzle and then joined him, leaving the rifle with the wolf, who whimpered and ran away, pawing at his muzzle.
“Hurry, hurry, only ten minutes left!” Polwatte said, jumping down from the tree and going over to the carcass of the wolf. They managed to drag it out of the vale into the graveyard. Polwatte stooped over the wolf with a knife. “You going to stuff it or do you only want the skin?” “Stuff it,” Mandeville said.
“Oh,” Polwatte said, digging out his musket ball. He wiped it on the grass and put it back into his pocket. Mandeville found this extremely disgusting. “What are you going to do with it? It’s out of shape.” He remarked.
“Can melt it down again. Waste not, want not.” Polwatte said, cheerily.
“Is that why you shot it through the leg? To make retrieving the ball easier?” Mandeville asked.
“The musket ball would’ve shattered its skull.” Polwatte replied.
“Well, let’s go see if we can get a cart or something to take this back in. You stay with the wolf while I get one.” He started off.
“Wait!” Mandeville shouted.
Polwatte paused and turned around to listen.
“How many wolves have you killed before?” Mandeville asked, out of idle curiosity.
Polwatte paused. “Well, to tell the truth, actually none. I’ve never been farther than the cemetery before.” He turned and walked away.