Feast Fight!, page 1
For Lucy, Theo and Tara – PB
For Mum and Dad, who encouraged my scribbling from the beginning – FB
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Meet the Characters
Chapter 1
An Arrowing Experience
Chapter 2
Malarkey at the Manor
Chapter 3
Peacock Pie Palaver
Chapter 4
Market Day Mayhem
Chapter 5
A Thief in the Night
Chapter 6
Curry Carry-On
Chapter 7
Royal Rumpus
Chapter 8
Banquet Argy-Bargy
Chapter 9
An Unexpected Guest
Chapter 10
Food Fight
Copyright
SWISH!
“Eeeek!”
THUNK! TWOINNNG!
“Ah, I think we’ll call that a warm-up shot, Cedric,” said Sir Percy, lowering his bow. “Now be a good fellow and fetch the arrow.”
“Y-yes, Sir Percy.”
I walked shakily to the large oak tree and pulled out Sir Percy’s arrow. It was exactly where I’d been standing just a few seconds earlier.
“Shift the target a bit to the left,” he said. “Those trees are spoiling my line of sight.”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I sighed. For the zillionth time that morning I lugged the target to a new spot. Sooner or later he might actually hit it. Just as long as he didn’t hit me first.
“That’s better,” said Sir Percy. “And don’t stand so close to it. It puts me off my aim.”
I hadn’t been standing close the last time. I’d been sheltering somewhere nice and safe – or so I’d thought. If I hadn’t dived out of the way, Sir Percy would have needed a new squire for the second time in three months.
A knight is supposed to teach his squire proper knighting skills. But somehow my master – known to his many fans as Sir Percy the Proud – never quite gets round to it. Just like that morning, when he’d said he might let me have a go with the bow once he’d “warmed up”. Two hours of “warm-up shots” later I obviously wasn’t going to be firing my first arrow any time soon. I can safely say that Sir Percy couldn’t hit a castle gate if it was right in front of his nose.
Actually, make that a castle.
Could this really be the same famous knight who once shot a secret message tied to an arrow through the arrow-slit of a besieged castle? From half a mile away? At night? Blindfolded? It’s one of the best bits of The Song of Percy, Sir Percy’s wildly popular account of his knightly deeds. Hmmm. It wasn’t the first time I’d wondered whether The Song of Percy might be a bit … exaggerated.
He notched another arrow to his bow and I quickly checked for a safe place to fling myself the moment he fired.
“Ready, Cedric?”
“Ready, Sir Percy.”
All of a sudden I heard the sound of hooves among the trees. But before I could say anything, a gust of wind blew Sir Percy’s dashing new green and orange velvet hunting cap over his eyes.
TWANGGG!
“Bother!”
Sir Percy fired blindly into the air.
I leaped for cover, but luckily his arrow flew high over the trees.
“Blasted breeze!” said Sir Percy, pushing the cap off his eyes. “Ah, well. No harm d—”
“Aaargh!”
There was a startled yell and a whinny. Then a grandly dressed man rode out of the trees looking alarmed – and very cross. Sir Percy’s arrow was sticking out of his saddle, right between his legs. A couple of inches the wrong way and … ouch!
“This is an outrage!” roared the rider, who looked vaguely familiar. “Raining arrows on me. I could have been cut off in my prime!”
“My sincerest apologies,” said Sir Percy. “It was the wind.”
“I don’t care about your personal problems,” said the man. He yanked the arrow out of his saddle and flung it at Sir Percy’s feet. “Next time, mind where you’re shooting, you careless twerp!”
“Now look here,” scowled Sir Percy, puffing out his chest. “I will have you know that I, Sir Percy Piers Peregrine de Bluster de Bombast, will not be spoken to in that tone by the likes of-of—”
“Fitztightly,” fumed the man. “Baron Buskin Fitztightly. Chief Herald of His Majesty the King. And good morning to you, Sir Percy.”
Sir Percy’s face quickly switched to his cheesiest grin. It was better than one of Patchcoat the jester’s conjuring tricks.
“Ah, my dear Baron Fitztightly!” declared Sir Percy, doffing his cap and sweeping an impressively smarmy bow.
“Just my little joke! Of course I recognized you at once,” he fibbed. “Delighted to see your lordship. You are most welcome to Castle Bombast. And how is His Majesty? In fine health, I trust?”
“You can ask him yourself,” said Baron Fitztightly. “At the banquet tomorrow night.”
“A royal banquet?” said Sir Percy. “How simply marvellous! Cedric, we must prepare to travel to the palace at once. I shall need new evening robes, my best armour, a new set of plumes for my helmet, and—”
“This isn’t an invitation to the palace,” interrupted the baron.
“Oh,” said Sir Percy. “So who’s throwing the banquet?”
“You are,” said the baron.
“Wh-what?” spluttered Sir Percy. “Me? Y-you mean the king is coming here?”
“Indeed,” said the baron. “The king and queen are visiting every knight who did well in the tournament. Including you, Sir Percy. Or perhaps you’d forgotten?”
So that’s where I’d seen Baron Fitztightly before! A few weeks earlier, the fearsome Sir Roland the Rotten had challenged Sir Percy to a joust at the king’s tournament. Sir Percy wriggled out of it by making me wear his armour and pretend to be him.
Amazingly, I actually won the joust – by a sheer fluke. But of course everyone thought I was Sir Percy so he took all the credit. He’d even had a huge, expensive tapestry made called The Triumph of Sir Percy. It shows Sir Percy knocking Sir Roland off his horse into a large pile of poop. And very splendid it looks, too – apart from the tiny detail that it never actually happened.
“Their Majesties expect your best bedchambers, an excellent banquet and top-notch entertainment,” the baron went on. “They will arrive just in time to dine at seven o’clock. Talking of which, I’d better get on and deliver these invitations.” He patted a leather bag with two parchment scrolls sticking out of it.
“Invitations?” said Sir Percy. “Who else is coming?”
“Whenever the king stays with one of his knights, he always invites all the other local knights to the banquet,” said the baron.
“Oh, goody!” said Sir Percy. “That means he’ll be inviting my old pal Sir Spencer the Splendid. He only lives an hour’s ride away. What fun!”
“Correct,” said the baron. “I’m going there next.”
“So who’s that other invite for?” said Sir Percy. “Ah, I know!” He gave the baron a sly nod and a wink. “Is it perhaps for some noble young … lady? After all, there are no other knights around here.”
“Depends what you mean by ‘around here’,” said the baron. “This district stretches as far as the Forest of Grimwood.”
Sir Percy’s face fell. “Grimwood?” he said. “But only one other knight lives between here and Grimwood, and that’s … that’s—”
“Sir Roland the Rotten,” said the baron with a wry smile. “Precisely. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to come to the banquet. Good day, Sir Percy!”
“B-but your lordship!” spluttered Sir Percy. “Wait! I-I…”
But the baron had already ridden off at a brisk trot.
We set off back to the castle. Sir Percy hurried ahead while I staggered behind him carrying all his archery equipment.
“Do keep up, Cedric,” grouched Sir Percy.
“Sorry, Sir Percy,” I panted.
“We must start preparing at once for the royal visit,” said Sir Percy. “There’s a lot to arrange. However, it would be most unknightly to overburden one’s squire, and therefore I’m only giving you three things to do.”
“Thanks, Sir Percy,” I said.
“Don’t mention it, dear boy,” said Sir Percy. “So you’re in charge of the bedchambers, the banquet and the entertainment. I shall take care of – um – everything else.”
“Er – is there anything else, Sir Percy?” I said before I could stop myself.
“Most amusing, Cedric,” he frowned. “Kindly remember your Squire’s Code and refrain from being cheeky to your master.”
“Sorry, Sir Percy,” I said.
“As a matter of fact I shall be extremely busy,” Sir Percy said huffily. “But first we have to deal with Sir Roland. There’s no way he’s coming here to spoil my banquet. Besides, it’ll be cheaper with one less guest to feed.”
“How can you stop him?” I asked. “He’s been invited by the king himself.”
I hated the idea of Sir Roland coming as much as Sir Percy did – especially as he’d bring his sneaky squire, Walter Warthog. But I didn’t see what Sir Percy could do about it.
“Simple, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “We must make sure Sir Roland never receives the king’s invitation.”
Uh-oh. I was starting to learn that when Sir Percy said something was “simple” it usually ended up being difficult and dangerous.
“But the baron’s already on his way to Blackstone Fort,” I said. Blac
“Indeed, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “But he’s heading to Sir Spencer’s castle first. It’s an hour away by the main road. If you cut through the wood on Gristle the mule you’ll easily catch him up.”
“Me?” I said.
“Of course, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “It’ll be good practice for overtaking an enemy army. And then all you have to do is simply – um – retrieve the invitation from the baron.”
“But Sir Percy!” I blurted. “Isn’t that … stealing?”
“Nonsense!” said Sir Percy. “If Sir Roland never has his invitation, how can you steal it? Now go and saddle Prancelot for me. I have to pop into the village on – er – urgent banquet business. Hurry now!”
I was about to ask how I was supposed to take the invitation without the baron noticing, but Sir Percy had already loped off into the castle.
I stashed away the archery stuff in one of the castle cellars. Then I hurried to saddle Prancelot and Gristle. I was about to leave when Sir Percy came in with a large leather sack hoisted over his shoulder.
“Prancelot’s all ready for you, Sir Percy,” I said from behind the door.
“Oh!” he cried in alarm, dropping the sack. It landed on the cobbled floor with a clang. “I thought you’d already left!”
“Sorry to startle you, Sir Percy,” I said. “One of Gristle’s stirrups was broken. I had to hunt for a spare. Here, let me pick that up.”
“No!” said Sir Percy, hastily snatching up the sack and clutching it to his chest. “I mean, no – no need to bother, dear boy,” he added breezily. “Anyway, hadn’t you better be off?”
“Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. I bowed and led Gristle from the stable. Sir Percy saw me out with a fixed smile. He was still standing there, clutching the sack and grinning at me over the stable door, as I rode across the courtyard and out of the castle. What was all that about?
I’d assumed that Sir Percy’s “cut through the woods” was an actual path. But oh no. The only way to get to Spiffington Manor, Sir Spencer’s castle, was through a thick tangle of trees and undergrowth. Before long Gristle refused to go on, so I tied him to a tree and continued on foot. When I finally saw the gates of Spiffington Manor I’d been battered by branches, shredded by shrubs and scratched to bits by brambles.
It had taken me an hour and a half and I was certain I’d missed the baron. As I walked up to the castle gates I saw a rider leaving, escorted by one of Sir Spencer’s guards. But as I got closer, I saw it wasn’t the baron at all but some kind of travelling merchant.
“We ain’t interested,” I heard the guard say. “Now clear off.”
“But my Bottom-Boil Balsam is the best in the kingdom,” said the merchant. “It cures all pains in the posterior!”
“I said clear off,” barked the guard. “Now!
Or I’ll give you a pain in the posterior – with me pike!”
“Tell you what,” said the merchant. “I’ll leave you this leaflet with my special offers.”
He handed a scroll of parchment to the guard – who just tossed it over his shoulder. The wind caught it and carried it off.
“I said now!” he glowered.
“All right, all right! Please yourself,” said the merchant, riding across the drawbridge. As he passed me he said, “Good morning, young sir! Master Botolph’s the name. And how is your bottom today?”
“Fine!” I said, and hurried to the gate.
“Halt!” said the guard. “If you’re sellin’ something then you can blinkin’ well—”
Before he could finish, who should come striding out of the castle but Sir Spencer the Splendid himself – with Baron Fitztightly!
“Great to see you, Fitznicely!” said Sir Spencer, slapping the baron on the back so hard that he almost fell down the steps. “And a big thumbs-up to His Maj for the cool invite. Now, are you sure you won’t stay and see my collection of embroidered cloaks?”
“Er – no,” said the baron, dodging another back-slap. “Thanks for the mug of mead but I must get going. Have someone fetch my horse from the stables, will you?”
I suddenly saw the perfect chance to get my hands on Sir Roland’s invitation.
“I’ll do it, sir!” I exclaimed.
The guard barred my way. “Oi, not so fast, sunshine!” he said.
“Whoa! Easy, Sergeant, easy!” said Sir Spencer. “This chap looks kind of familiar.”
“I believe it’s Sir Percy’s squire,” said the baron. “Didn’t I see you earlier, lad?”
I bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Of course!” said Sir Spencer, flashing me a dazzling smile. I’d never seen such amazing teeth. Hardly any of them were rotten and only one or two were missing. “I saw you at the tournament. Hold on, I never forget a name … it’s … Cecil, right?”
“Um, Cedric, Sir Spencer.”
“Er, yeah, I knew that!” he beamed, flicking his long golden locks out of his eyes. “So, Frederick, what brings you solo to Spencer Central?”
Yikes! I’d spent so long thinking about how to take the invite that I hadn’t even thought of an excuse for my visit.
“Well, I-I…” I stammered. “Er – Sir Percy wants to know what you’re wearing to the banquet. Um – just so you don’t clash.”
“Good man, good man!” said Sir Spencer. “Tell him I’m coming in my new green and orange velvet dinner tunic. Green and orange is definitely the new yellow and scarlet. Hey, baron, how about I show it to you before you go?”
“No,” said the baron firmly. He turned to me. “Thank you for offering to fetch my horse, young man.”
Sir Spencer pointed me towards the stables. With no one to see me, it was easy to slip the invitation out of the baron’s saddlebag. But something bothered me. When the baron found the invitation was missing, wouldn’t he simply tell Sir Roland about the banquet? Somehow I had to stop the baron going to Blackstone Fort. So much for Sir Percy’s simple plan!
And then I spotted something just outside the stable. It was the merchant’s scroll, lying on a pile of horse poo where the guard had tossed it. Checking that no one was looking, I snatched it up. Hmm, I thought, flicking off a stray bit of poo. I wonder…
I steadied the baron’s horse as he swung himself up into the saddle.
“And you’re sure you don’t fancy another mug of mead?” said Sir Spencer.
“Certainly not,” said the baron. “That first one has made me rather sleepy. The last thing I feel like doing is riding up that hill to Blackstone Fort.”
“Um – excuse me, your lordship?” I said.
The baron turned to me. “Yes, young man?”
“Perhaps you don’t need to ride all the way,” I said.
“Eh?” said the baron.
“There’s a village at the bottom of the hill,” I said. “You could ask a villager to take the invitation up to Sir Roland.”
“That would certainly save time,” smiled the baron. “But how do I know if some random villager will actually deliver the invitation?”
“Tell them Sir Roland will be angry if he doesn’t get it,” I said. “That should do the trick.”
The baron nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “Thank you, young Cedric. Oh, and talking of being angry, I forgot to tell Sir Percy that the king’s favourite dish is peacock pie. His Majesty will be very cross if he doesn’t get it. Farewell!”
Eek! I suddenly remembered I had a royal banquet to organize. I took the road back to Castle Bombast this time and collected Gristle on the way. As I strode along I wondered who would be angrier. The king if he didn’t get his peacock pie? Or Sir Roland when he opened a scroll from the king to find a two-for-one offer on Master Botolph’s Bottom-Boil Balsam?
“No!”
“Please?” I begged.
“No way.”
“Pretty please?”
Margaret glared at me over the pot of stoat and turnip stew she was stirring for Sir Percy’s supper. He still wasn’t back from the village.
“I said no,” she barked, shaking her head so much that several drops of sweat flew off the end of her red nose and plopped into the stew. “I ain’t cooking no fancy rubbish. Even if I wanted to, the master couldn’t afford it. He ain’t got a brass farthing left after paying for that bloomin’ tapestry.”
