After returning from Sir Spencer’s, I’d dashed to the kitchen to discuss the banquet menu with Mouldybun Margaret, Sir Percy’s cook. Actually there wasn’t much of a discussion. Margaret isn’t exactly the top chef in the kingdom. Her idea of a banquet fit for Their Majesties looked like this:

  Yum!

  “Sir Percy can’t be that skint,” I said. “He’s just bought an expensive new hunting cap.”

  “Well, I dunno how he paid for it,” grumbled Margaret. “And I dunno how he’s going to pay for this banquet, neither. Peacock pie indeed!”

  “But it’s the king’s favourite dish!” I pleaded. “If he doesn’t get it he’ll be really annoyed with Sir Percy!”

  “Ced’s right,” said Patchcoat the jester, who was in the kitchen trying out a few new jokes on Margaret. “Didn’t you hear about the time the king stayed with Sir Nigel de Ninkham-Poope?”

  “No,” I said. “What happened?”

  “Sir Nigel’s jester told me all about it,” Patchcoat went on. “The cook dozed off and burned the king’s peacock pie to a crisp. What a waste!”

  “Gosh,” I said. “So what did the king do to Sir Nigel?”

  “Well, the king was all very nice about it,” said Patchcoat. “Told Sir Nigel not to worry, it was a mere trifle, that kind of thing.”

  “Trifle?” said Margaret. “I thought you said it were a peacock pie?”

  “No, I mean – well, never mind,” said Patchcoat. “But then, a week later, the king suddenly announced that he wanted a bear for the royal zoo. And guess who was given the honour of going into the depths of Grimwood to catch it? Sir Nigel.”

  “Yikes!” I said. “Did he come back alive?”

  “Oh, Sir Nigel is alive all right,” said Patchcoat. “He just sent his squire instead. He’s buried not far from here. The bits they found, anyway. What’s wrong, Ced? You look a bit pale.”

  I turned to Margaret.

  “Are you sure you can’t cook a peacock pie?” I said weakly.

  “Sir Percy ain’t even got any peacocks, and that’s just for starters,” grumbled Margaret.

  “I thought it was for the main course?” quipped Patchcoat.

  “Less o’ your cheek, Master Patchcoat,” she snapped. “We can’t afford a peacock pie and that’s that. Now, I’m busy, so you two can clear off out of my kitchen. Unless you fancy helpin’ me polish up the master’s best silver plates for the banquet?”

  “No thanks,” said Patchcoat. “I think I’ll practise my jokes in the castle gardens. Coming, Ced?”

  “Er – all right,” I said, following him. “But I can’t stay long. I’ve got tons to do before tomorrow. It’s not just the food for the banquet. Sir Percy wants me to sort out all the entertainment as well.”

  “Eh?” said Patchcoat. “Why didn’t you say so? If you need an evening of amusement I happen to know the very person.”

  “Really?” I said eagerly. “Who?”

  “Me, of course!” said the jester. “I’ve always wanted to try out a few jokes on a royal audience.”

  “Er – don’t you think the king and queen might want more than just a few jokes?” I said. “Even if they’re brilliant ones like yours,” I added quickly.

  “Don’t worry, Ced,” grinned Patchcoat. “We’ll give them a right royal feast of fun. But I might just do a few gags to warm them up.”

  “Thanks, Patchcoat,” I said. “It would be great if you could help.”

  “That’s settled then,” said Patchcoat. “Leave it to me.”

  “Cedric!”

  I turned to see Sir Percy coming up the garden path. He had the (now empty) leather sack over one shoulder and a big grin on his face.

  “He looks very pleased with himself,” said Patchcoat. “Where’s he been?”

  “The village,” I said. “Something to do with the banquet.”

  “Really? So what’s with the empty sack?” said Patchcoat. “Doesn’t look like he’s done much shopping.”

  Sir Percy reached us before I could answer. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Now run along, Patchcoat. I need to talk to Cedric in private.”

  “Yes, Sir Percy,” said Patchcoat. “See ya, Ced. And by the way, why is a measuring stick like a king?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “They’re both rulers!”

  Patchcoat wandered off, tittering to himself.

  Sir Percy looked around to make sure we were alone. “So, did you manage to take it?” he hissed. “The invitation?”

  “Yes, Sir Percy.”

  “Excellent! Good work, Cedric,” he said. “Now I can look forward to the banquet without worrying about Sir Roland showing up to spoil the fun. I can’t wait!”

  “Oh, that reminds me, Sir Percy,” I said. “Sir Spencer told me what colours he’s wearing tomorrow. Just so you won’t clash.”

  “Good old Spence,” said Sir Percy. “He really needn’t worry, though, as I shall be wearing a tunic in the very latest fashion. Orange and green velvet.”

  “But that’s what Sir Spencer’s wearing!” I said.

  Sir Percy stared at me in horror. “But – that’s impossible!” he spluttered. “I mean, he can’t… Oh, bother! Cedric, I’ve just realized something I – er – forgot to do in the village. Tell Margaret to keep my supper warm.”

  “Yes, Sir Percy,” I said.

  As he turned and hurried off, I had an idea. Today was market day. Why not nip into the village myself and see if I could buy a peacock pie?

  Suddenly Margaret came hurtling towards me in a panic. “Master Cedric!” she shrieked. “Fetch Sir Percy! Quick!”

  “I think he’s just left for the village again,” I said. “Why, what’s happened?”

  “It’s the silver plates!” she panted. “Half of ’em’s disappeared! There’s a thief in the castle!”

  “Are you sure someone’s stolen them?” I said.

  “Course I am,” Margaret snapped. “Come and see for yerself.”

  I sighed and followed her into the Great Hall, where Sir Percy’s family silver was kept in a chest for special occasions.

  “See!” she said, pointing to the open chest. “There was twenty plates yesterday. But I came in to polish ’em just now and there’s only fifteen.”

  “You mean ten,” I said.

  “Eh?” said Margaret. “You sayin’ I can’t count?”

  “No, no,” I said hastily. “You’re brilliant at counting.” As long as it isn’t over five, I thought. “But there are definitely only ten plates. Look.”

  Margaret counted them out on her fingers. She gasped. “Aargh!” she said. “That’s another five gorn!”

  Margaret insisted that five more plates had just been stolen, in broad daylight, in the last ten minutes.

  I felt sure she was mistaken. But in any case there wasn’t much we could do about it before Sir Percy came back. I might as well still go to the village and look for a peacock pie.

  I left the hall and went to get Gristle – only to see Sir Percy coming out of the stables with Prancelot.

  “Sir Percy!” I exclaimed. “It’s a good job I saw you. I thought you’d already left!”

  “Oh, ah, I – er – forgot something,” he said. He swung himself up into the saddle. “Now I really must hurry. Urgent banquet business, you know. Toodle-pip!”

  “But Sir Percy,” I said. “Margaret says there’s been a robbery!”

  “What?” said Sir Percy. “In the castle? Good gracious! Not my new plumes, I hope?”

  “It’s the silver plates, Sir Percy,” I said. “We need them for the banquet, but half of them have gone!”

  Sir Percy was speechless. I wasn’t surprised. The plates were twice the size of normal plates and extremely valuable. They had been specially made for his grandfather, Sir Peregrine the Portly, so that he could have first and second helpings at the same time.

  “Er – the silver plates?” he said, squirming in his saddle. “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Sir Percy,” I said. “Why don’t you come and—”

  “Sorry, can’t stop!” said Sir Percy. “You deal with it, Cedric. I’m – er – I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation. Giddy up!”

  Sir Percy dug in his heels and rode off, clutching his big leather sack. It clanked as Prancelot galloped towards the village.

  I tied Gristle up at the Boar’s Bottom inn and wandered towards the village square. On the way I passed a shop with a gleaming new sign that said “Master Silas Stitchett. Tailor to the Gentry”.

  I must remember to tell Sir Percy that there’s a new tailor in the village, I thought.

  The market was in full swing. There were stalls selling everything from cabbages and cakes to toad-eye tonic and earwax candles.

  There were also several pongy pens where farmers were buying and selling sheep, goats and pigs. Not to mention cows – as I found out when I slipped on a freshly plopped cow pat and nearly fell over.

  “Tell yer fortune, sonny?” croaked an old woman with no teeth, tugging at my sleeve. “You will meet a tall dark stranger. Or was it a stranger called Mark? No, hang on, a small park ranger…”

  “No thanks,” I said. I shook her off and pushed through the crowd.

  “Luvverly pies! Luvverly pies! Come over ’ere and feast yer eyes!” bawled a stallholder, as I walked by. “Afternoon, young master!” he said. “Simon the Pieman at your service. Can I interest you in one of my piping-hot pies?”

  I stared in wonder at Simon the Pieman’s scrummy-looking pies and tarts and cakes and pastries. They looked and smelled delicious. And there, in the middle of the mouth-watering display, was a huge golden-crusted peacock pie.

  Then I saw the price and my heart sank. I only had a few pennies in my money pouch.

  “Sorry,” I said sadly. “That peacock pie looks amazing. But there’s no way I can afford it.”

  A voice called, “Hey, Ced!” and I looked up to see Patchcoat. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “What are you up to, then?”

  “Trying to buy food for the royal banquet,” I said ruefully. “But it’s a bit of a wasted trip. What about you?”

  “Remember those travelling actors who called at the castle a few weeks back?” said Patchcoat. “Master Perkin’s Players?”

  “Oh, them,” I said. Master Perkin had offered to perform a play about Sir Roland bashing Sir Percy. I’d sent them packing pretty sharpish.

  “Well, I heard they were still staying in the village,” said Patchcoat. “So I popped into the Boar’s Bottom to say hello.”

  “But why did you want to see them?” I asked.

  “The banquet, of course!” said Patchcoat. “A banquet isn’t a banquet without a bit of theatre, Ced. I’ve booked them to do a little play for Their Majesties tomorrow night. What do you reckon?”

  I frowned. “Sir Percy won’t be pleased if it’s about him being walloped by Sir Roland.”

  “Don’t worry,” chuckled Patchcoat. “After the tournament Perkin rewrote it, so now it’s the other way round. It’ll give everyone a good laugh. Especially Sir Percy!”

  “Well, I suppose it might cheer the king up, too,” I said. “He’s going to be cross when he doesn’t get his peacock pie.”

  “Yeah, I dunno what he’ll say to Margaret’s crow and cabbage stew. Anyway, I need to get a new set of juggling balls. I’ll see you at the Boar’s Bottom in a bit. You can give me lift home on Gristle.”

  On the way to the inn to wait for Patchcoat, I noticed a stall standing a bit apart from the others. A cluster of curious peasants crowded around it.

  “’Oo’s this then?” said one. “Oi ain’t seen ’im afore.”

  “Dunno,” said another. “’E’s noo.”

  “Looks a bit foreign, if you ask me,” said a third.

  “What’s ’e sellin’, anyhow?”

  “No idea,” said the first, picking a bit of dried cow dung off his chin. “Oi don’t like the smell of it, that’s for certain.”

  I edged to the front of the crowd. The stall was covered with an array of shiny brass bowls filled with exotic-smelling seeds and brightly coloured powders. The stallholder wore a long purple tunic fringed with gold and a bright red turban.

  “Good afternoon, my friends,” he began. “My name is Ali. Please examine my wares. I bring you the finest spices from the East.”

  “East of what?” said a peasant.

  “Just the East, my friend,” said Ali. “You know, as in the Indies.”

  “Undies?” croaked an old man, cupping his hand to one hairy ear. “’E says this stuff is from his undies!”

  A rumble of disapproval went through the crowd.

  “Ugh!” cried a man. “Oi ain’t touching nuffin’ what comes out of a foreigner’s undies!”

  “Nor me, neither,” declared his wife, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “That’s disgustin’!”

  Muttering and grumbling, the peasants all drifted away.

  “Hello, young man,” sighed Ali. “I don’t suppose you want any paprika to pep up your pig’s liver pie? Or some cinnamon to spice up your suet pudding?”

  Now there’s an idea, I thought. If I can’t afford a peacock pie, maybe I could just get Mouldybun Margaret’s food to taste a bit nicer?

  “Do you have anything to make cabbage or turnip more interesting?” I asked.

  Ali beamed and pointed to a small sack of yellowish-brown powder. “I have the very thing,” he said. “It’s called curry powder. A little bit of this will add crackle to the clammiest cabbage and terrificness to the most tasteless turnip!”

  “Sounds ideal,” I said. “But how much is it? I haven’t got a lot of money.”

  “It’s my newest spice,” said Ali. “But it’s not very popular. I’ll give you the whole sack for one penny.”

  “Brilliant!” I said. I handed over a penny before he could change his mind.

  “Remember, don’t use very much,” he smiled, tying up the sack of powder. “It’s very hot!”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the sack. It didn’t feel hot at all. To be honest it wasn’t even warm.

  I was almost at the Boar’s Bottom when a sinister figure in a long, black hooded cloak crossed in front of me. He looked about, as if to make sure no one was following him, then dived into a nearby alley. I watched, intrigued, as he hunkered down in the shadows. I couldn’t see clearly because the alley was dark and his cloak was in the way, but he appeared to be counting the contents of some sort of bag. Then his cloak briefly flapped open in the breeze.

  He was counting big silver plates. And not just any big silver plates. I could just see that they were engraved with a peacock – the badge of Sir Percy’s family. It was the stolen silver!

  The cloaked robber stood up and slipped out of the alley.

  “Stop, thief!” I cried, and ran after him.

  He gave a start of alarm and then he was running, too, pushing aside peasants and weaving in and out of market stalls. Luckily, I was much smaller and quicker than the thief and soon I was right behind him.

  I reached out to grab his cloak – but then a large grunting pig suddenly came charging out of the crowd, followed by its large grunting owner.

  “Come back ’ere, you stoopid sow!” puffed the pig farmer.

  I was right by Simon the Pieman’s stall – and the escaped pig was hurtling straight for me!

  “My luvverly pies! They’ll be wrecked!” cried Simon.

  “Shoo!” I yelled, desperately waving my sack of curry powder. “Go away! Nice piggy! Shoo! Shoo!”

  The pig hurtled closer and closer – and then at the very last second it veered nimbly away with a loud “OINK!”.

  “Phew!” I said. “That was close – OOF!”

  The pig might have been nimble, but his owner certainly wasn’t. He ran right into me and sent me flying into a big tub of herrings at the fish stall next door.

  “Sorry ’bout that!” grunted the farmer, running off after his pig.

  “Oi, out of my tub!” barked the fishmonger. “You’ll spoil all my fish. They was fresh caught only last week!”

  Simon the Pieman helped me out of the slimy, slippery mess. “Thanks, young master,” he beamed. “You saved my stall! I think you deserve—”

  “The thief!” I suddenly remembered. “Sorry, Mister Pieman! I have to go!”

  I sped off towards where I’d last seen the robber. I was sure he’d been heading for the back lane out of the village. But when I got there I could see no sign of him. Where could he have gone? I stood by the new tailor’s shop and looked up and down the lane. But it was no good. The cloaked thief had vanished into thin air.

  Patchcoat was waiting for me at the Boar’s Bottom.

  “What happened to you, Ced?” He pulled a herring out of my hood. “Something fishy by the look o f it. Not to mention the smell. Pooh!”

  As we rode home on Gristle I explained what had happened.

  “I just don’t understand how the robber got into the castle,” I said.

  “Do you reckon it’s an inside job?” said Patchcoat.

  “What, someone in the castle itself?” I said, shocked. “But they’d be stealing from their own master! Besides it’s obviously not you, me or Margaret. The thief was at least as tall as Sir Percy.”

  As soon as we arrived back, I nipped into the kitchen and hid the curry powder behind a pile of logs while Margaret’s back was turned. Then I went straight to Sir Percy’s chamber. He was standing in front of his looking glass in a dressing gown, trying on his collection of plumed hats.

  “Ah, Cedric, there you are,” he said, as I entered. “Where have you been? I need you to help me choose a hat for the banquet.”

 

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