“So tell us,” says Ossie’s dad, “what stunning victories have you notched up then, you know, in your time as a legendary knight.”

  I don’t want to let them down, so I have to make up some tales. “Well – dragons, I’ve seen one or two of them off…”

  “A dragon?” says Ossie’s dad. “I like it. What was it then, a fire-breathing beast with red eyes, green scales and vicious claws?”

  “Yes,” I reply, “that’s the sort of thing.”

  “Have a name, did it, this dragon?” says Ossie’s mum.

  I cough a little as I try to come up with a name.

  “This one was called Hayley,” I nod.

  Ossie looks at me, a little disappointed.

  “Hayley the Dragon? What kind of a name is that?” says Ossie’s dad. “I was expecting something like Flames of Fury or The Scorcher!”

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” I reply. “I have looked into Hayley’s eyes close up and she is a monster and a half!”

  “And how did you defeat this dragon called Hayley?” says Ossie’s mum.

  “I fed her a diet of baked beans and fizzy drink until she barfed and burped at the same time and blew herself to smithereens!” I laugh.

  “What a cunning ploy,” says Ossie, before adding, “What are baked beans?”

  “And what’s fizzy drink?” asks Ossie’s mum.

  “You know, a special brew with lots of bubbles like lemonade or orangeade.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” says Ossie’s mum. “We call ours turnipade.”

  “So you’re going to defeat Ivan the Horrible, are you?” says Ossie’s dad, going back to the reason why I’m here.

  “The scallywag steals our food,” says Ossie’s mum. “I’m down to my last ten thousand turnips!”

  “Have no fear, John Smith is here!” I beam. “I will see him off!”

  “But what about his army?” says Ossie’s mum. “That gang of bloodthirsty brigands and villains with their axes, swords, pots of boiling pitch, spears, chains and spikes!”

  “He’s got an army?” I mutter. “Nobody said anything about an army!”

  “A terrible, murderous crew they are,” says Ossie’s dad. “There’s Bruno the Bone Breaker, Thor the Eyeball Sucker, and worst of all … Terry the Toe Tickler!”

  “Then they reckoned without John Smith,” I announce. “I’ll show them exactly who they’re dealing with! I’ll have the lot of them for breakfast!”

  “You’ll have them for breakfast?” gasps Ossie. “Eurgh! That sounds horrible.”

  “Another slice of turnip cake?” says Ossie’s mum. “All you have to do is say the magic word.”

  “Go on,” says Ossie’s dad, “it’ll put hair on your chest…”

  Ossie’s mum slices a quarter of the turnip cake on to my plate.

  “So what’s the BIG PLAN?” asks Ossie’s dad.

  I pace around the room, weighing up the situation. Then I stop dramatically and address them. “I think I have the answer!”

  Ossie’s mum and dad cheer.

  “What is it?” asks Ossie. “What? WHAT?”

  “What we need … is a BIG PLAN!”

  “I just said that,” says Ossie’s dad.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” says Ossie’s mum.

  “I could always use my bow and arrow,” says Ossie.

  “One bow and arrow against a whole army,” I sigh. “They’ll make mincemeat of us!”

  Suddenly I hear a noise in the street. I rush to the window, my sword at the ready.

  “What’s that terrible racket?” I gasp. “It sounds like a honking cat. It’s putting me off thinking up my big plan!”

  I see someone in the middle of the courtyard, skipping round in circles.

  “That is Perkin the Pied Piper,” says Ossie. “He walks round the castle grounds playing his penny whistle.”

  “It’s a horrible sound,” I groan. “It’s giving me a headache!”

  “He’s not a very good piper,” says Ossie.

  “He’s complete manure!” says Ossie’s dad. “I’ve heard smarter tunes from an armpit fart!”

  “Wait. So, if you’ve got a pied piper … you’ve got mice?” I ask, an idea forming in my mind.

  “Thousands of the little critters,” says Ossie’s dad.

  “Millions,” says Ossie’s mum.

  “They scurry all over the castle,” says Ossie. “They’re a right proper pest.”

  “You’ve got a really queer look on your face, John Smith,” says Ossie’s mum.

  “These mice might be the answer to our problems,” I smile.

  I go back to the kitchen table and pick up my shield and helmet.

  “I want everyone in the castle courtyard in five minutes!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Good friends, people of this fair castle – lend me your cheese!”

  “What do you want with our cheese?” someone in the crowd shouts out.

  “I got some cheese you can have,” says a beggar in rags.

  He scrapes a knob of green, creamy goo from underneath his toenail. “That’s pure toe cheese,” he chuckles. “The slightest whiff could knock out an entire army.”

  He’s right. It smells worse than Hayley’s dirty washing basket!

  “Does anyone have any cheese?” I shout, gasping and coughing from the disgustingly smelly smell. “Just the teensiest, weensiest crumb?”

  The crowd mutter and mumble and shake their heads.

  “You’re telling me this is a castle without cheese?” I gasp. “That is impossible. Impossible! Life without cheese is not worth living. You can grate it or slice it or melt it…”

  I close my eyes and lose myself in a cheesy daydream.

  “Take the cheese toastie – dribbling with promise, the cheese dangling round your lips like dairy-flavoured rubber bands. Oh, I can taste it now, give me more … GIVE ME MORE!”

  When I open my eyes, everyone is staring at me, blinking.

  “He’s a nutcase,” someone shouts.

  “Afternoon,” says a cheery voice behind us.

  “This is our local cheesesmith, Egbert,” says Ossie.

  “I heard you were asking for cheese,” says Egbert. “Frankly, I’m delighted to get rid of the stuff, so here you go…”

  Egbert dumps a huge wodge of cheese on the cobblestones.

  “Wow. That is cheese to the power of a million!” I gulp.

  “Delicious,” says Ossie. “I’m starving!”

  “This cheese is not for eating,” I announce. “This cheese is battle cheese!”

  “Battle cheese?” says Ossie.

  “Oh yes,” I smile. “We’re going to build the world’s greatest mousetrap!”

  There’s lots of tutting, sighing and general shaking of heads.

  “The mice won’t fall for this,” says Perkin the Pied Piper. “They’re not stupid, you know. They’re mice. Call yourself a knight of the realm? I’ll tell you what I think of this idea.”

  Perkin puts his pipe up his bottom and blows a loud PARP!

  “Look!” says Ossie.

  A little furry army scamper across the cobblestones.

  “You did it, Perkin!” I cheer.

  “Mice,” says the Pied Piper. “Hundreds of mice!”

  “Thousands of mice,” says Egbert.

  “Let the mice approach the cheese!” I whisper.

  The mice scurry across the cobblestones, their whiskers twitching, their noses working furiously, following the big old cheesy stench.

  “It’s working,” says Ossie, digging me in the ribs. “The mice are taking the bait.”

  They approach the cheese from all sides and nibble away.

  “What do we do now?” asks Ossie’s dad.

  “Hats at the ready,” I murmur. “Let Operation Scoop the Little Critters begin!”

  We race across the courtyard, plucking the mice into our pockets, plopping them under our hats, tucking them down our trousers.

  “Hold on a minute,” says Egbert the Cheesesmith. “What have these mice got to do with Ivan the Horrible?”

  I open my mouth to tell them my big plan when the heralds blow their trumpets.

  The messenger appears on the scene and announces, “All kneel for Her Majesty, the Queen…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Queen walks into the courtyard with Woodworm, her scary executioner.

  “John Smith,” says the Queen, “are you preparing yourself for the battle you must fight?”

  “Oh yes, Your Maj,” I reply.

  The Queen looks at me and smiles. “Cheeky little terrier, aren’t you? Ivan the Horrible will be here very soon. He will lead his mighty army up the hill, charge over the drawbridge, smash down the castle gate and ransack the castle. And you are the only person who can stop him.”

  The Queen suddenly looks across the courtyard.

  “That’s a rather large lump of cheese,” she says.

  “We’re rounding up the mice,” says Perkin.

  “Why are you rounding up the mice?” asks the Queen.

  Perkin stares blankly ahead, blowing out a big breath. “You’ve got me there,” he grunts.

  “It’s all part of my plan, Your Majesty,” I say.

  “You’re using these mice to defeat the mighty Ivan and his band of bloodthirsty bandits?” says the Queen.

  “If you’re the great John Smith,” sneers Woodworm, “why don’t you ride into battle waving your sword over your head and kill Ivan the Horrible in the traditional manner instead of resorting to death by mouse?”

  Woodworm suddenly spins his axe over his head and throws it into the ground just in front of my feet. “You could use my axe!” he smirks.

  Everyone turns and looks at me. That Woodworm is rotten, but he does have a point! If I’m such a brave and famous knight, why don’t I do the knightly thing and put Ivan the Horrible to the sword?

  “Well, John Smith?” says the Queen. “What do you have to say to that?”

  “Well, Your Majesty…” I walk round in a little circle, trying to think of something really clever to say. “That is … uh … exactly what Ivan the Horrible would expect me to do.”

  Some people nod, but most of them just look a bit confused. I think I’ll have to go for broke. “They would expect me – John Smith – to do something – LIKE THIS!”

  I pick up Woodworm’s axe and spin it round over my head. “Charge into battle swinging my mighty axe!” I yell.

  The axe accidentally slips out of my fingers and slices into one of the barrels outside Ye Olde Inn. A column of beer spews up in a big frothy fountain. Everyone claps. Clearly they think I meant to do this.

  “But then again,” I say, getting into my stride, “maybe Ivan the Horrible would expect me to do … this!” I pull out my sword, stick it in the ground and spectacularly vault straight on to Daisy.

  Everybody starts cheering and shouting. Even the Queen lets out a little smile.

  Unfortunately, Daisy has other ideas.

  She bolts off around the courtyard. I bounce around in the saddle, waving my sword.

  “Look at him go!” they shout. “What an extraordinary hero!”

  Daisy runs past Ye Olde Inn. My sword accidentally cuts the hanging baskets. They drop on the Queen’s heralds one by one.

  The last and the biggest basket smashes over Woodworm’s head, leaving him coughing and spluttering, spitting out soil.

  The crowd are roaring and clapping wildly.

  Daisy suddenly stops, but this time I’m one step ahead of her. As I fly free, I slip my feet into the bindings on the back of my shield and skid across the cobblestones. I ride the shield like a skateboard, flipping a trick up the side of a hay cart, somersaulting through the air and landing back at the Queen’s feet. Everyone is cheering and clapping me on the back.

  “That was quite a display,” says the Queen. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Woodworm?”

  Woodworm spits the final bits of mud out of his mouth and eyes me up. “It’s certainly left a lasting impression on me, Your Majesty,” he scowls.

  The Queen looks at me quizzically.

  “John Smith,” she says.

  “That’s me, Your Majesty!” I flash the Queen my winning smile, the one I reserve for extra special occasions when I’ve been really naughty.

  The Queen shakes her head and bites her lip, then lets out a really long sigh. “I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I?” she says. “I’m positive of it.”

  She turns to Woodworm. “Have you seen this boy somewhere before, Mr Woodworm?”

  “I know a face when I see one,” says the Queen’s executioner.

  “And the back of a head too,” laughs the Queen.

  The Queen drums her fingers, thinking, thinking…

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” she says. She bites her thumbnail, lost in thought. “It’s just coming to me… John Smith… John Smith…” Her eyes narrow as if she’s arriving at an important thought. Her face suddenly lights up, her eyes bulging like saucers.

  “I have it,” she gasps. “I know where I’ve seen you before!”

  Suddenly, the messenger runs into the courtyard and announces: “Ivan the Horrible is at the castle gates!”

  Everyone starts to run around screaming in a blind panic. The Queen fixes me with a stare and slowly nods.

  “Well, John Smith,” she says. “Kill this hideous villain!”

  “Leave it with me, your Queenly Queenship,” I reply.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ivan the Horrible looks horribly nasty and really scary and he sits on the biggest horse ever, which looks horribly nasty and scary too! Ivan the Horrible obviously doesn’t brush his hair or shave his chin or clean his teeth. I’ll bet he’s never even heard of flossing!

  He rides into the castle ahead of his terrible army, clunking away in their suits of armour. Ossie points them out one by one.

  “Bruno the Bone Breaker, Thor the Eyeball Sucker, Terry the Toe Tickler…” he gulps.

  “And lots of other rotten-looking types,” I reply.

  Ivan’s gang have got pikes and spikes and spears and swords and a massive wooden catapult on wheels. They look like they mean business. The business of being mean!

  Ivan the Horrible jumps off his horse and squares up to me.

  “You are John Smith, the greatest knight in the land,” he growls. “But you are no match for Ivan the Horrible!”

  Ivan the Horrible takes his glove off and tosses it on the ground. “I’m throwing down the gauntlet,” he laughs.

  “And I’m throwing down…” I look around and see an old washing line in the corner of the courtyard. “… a dirty old pair of pants!” I throw the pants on the ground and work them into the grit with my heel.

  “Those are my knickers!” says an old washerwoman.

  “Sorry about that,” I whisper.

  Ivan turns to Bruno the Bone Breaker, Thor the Eyeball Sucker and Terry the Toe Tickler and cackles for a very long time. “I’ll hand it to you, John Smith, you’ve got bags of nerve,” he roars. “What if I cut you into a thousand pieces and feed you to my horses?”

  “Do your worst. We’re not scared of you!” I reply.

  “I will do my worst,” says Ivan. “I will set Terry the Toe Tickler to work on your little tootsies!”

  Terry the Toe Tickler wiggles his fingers and guffaws, which sets all the others off guffawing too, a sort of Mexican wave guffaw.

  “I am here to sack, loot and pillage!” snarls Ivan. “Which means I will steal your food, burn your castle to the ground and ride off with your queen! Why don’t you join my army, John Smith? We’ll be a truly terrible team!”

  “Never!” I yell. “My place is here. Besides, I already know a truly terrible team – and if you’ve ever seen United play football, you’ll know a truly terrible team too.”

  “Very well,” says Ivan. “Have it your own way.” He turns to his revolting gang. “All right, you lot, let’s get horrible!”

  Bruno the Bone Breaker, Thor the Eyeball Sucker and Terry the Toe Tickler jump down from their horses and move slowly towards me, their hands reaching for their weapons.

  Now for the plan.

  I pass word round to let our furry little friends work their magic.

  Ossie, Egbert and Perkin pluck the mice from their pockets. They sneak round the back of Ivan’s no-good, nasty army and drop the mice inside their no-good, nasty suits of armour, finishing up with the fattest, scratchiest mice for Bruno, Thor and Terry.

  Bruno the Bone Breaker draws his sword and says: “I am Bruno the Bone Breaker and I’ve got one thing to say to you…”

  He suddenly twists his mouth into a funny shape and goes all bug-eyed.

  “It’s… It’s… Aaaaa… Oooooo…” he gasps.

  Bruno begins to dance around in a little circle, flapping his arms. Ivan the Horrible looks at Bruno and shakes his head.

  “Bruno, you’re letting the side down!” he snarls.

  Bruno falls to the ground and rolls round on his back, screaming and raging, “Make it stop!”

  Thor the Eyeball Sucker takes a step forward.

  “Thor the Eyeball Sucker, do your worst,” I holler.

  “I am Thor the… Ho ho ho … ah … ah … ah!” he giggles.

  Thor joins in with the funny dance, shaking his legs, slapping his thighs, gasping for breath.

  Terry the Toe Tickler rushes forward. “This be death by tickling!” he announces. “I have seen it a thousand times.”

 

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